


His Azure Eyes

by Robin_Mask



Category: Bleach
Genre: Arguing, Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Slash, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-24
Updated: 2010-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 64,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Mask/pseuds/Robin_Mask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Zaraki had known his answer would have changed everything then he would have chosen his words more carefully . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

# Introduction

 

Kenny always looked so peaceful during his afternoon naps, of course Yachiru always liked his happy, fighting face best, but Sleeping-Kenny was just as happy looking too! She always wondered what he dreamt about because his face was always so expressive when he dreamed. Sometimes he’d have a devilish smile like he was facing a strong opponent, and sometimes he’d have an empty expression like he was remembering their time back in Rukongai, but no matter what face he wore it was never a sad one. Yachiru never liked a sad Kenny because that made her feel sad too, mainly because Kenny always made her feel happy so she wanted Kenny to be happy as well, but sometimes he’d get sad anyway and she didn’t like that . . .

 

Right then, as she looked down on her father figure, he looked kind of funny. His scar on his face was kind of taut and his eyes were slightly frowning, she could tell even underneath the eye-patch that the eye was making a funny expression, and his mouth was in a thin line. It looked a little like he was annoyed, but Kenny had no reason to be annoyed! Today was a really nice day and even the koi fish in Uki-san’s pond looked happy! Yet come to think of it Kenny wasn’t breathing funny too, when he slept he looked a little like everyone else and his chest went up and down slowly, and his hair always got a little ruffled . . . so maybe he wasn’t napping after all? Maybe he was awake? If he was awake she’d kill Baldy, Baldy had told her that Kenny was sleeping!

 

She gave a little frown and sat beside Zaraki’s head.

 

Kenny wasn’t ignoring her because she’d been very quiet and because he couldn’t sense spiritual pressure he wouldn’t know she was there, but if he wasn’t sleeping then maybe she could ask him after all! She couldn’t disturb his nap but she could if he wasn’t _actually_ napping, and she really wanted to know the answer to her question! She’d been all over Bya-kun’s house and he wouldn’t tell her and when she asked Ichii-nii he just blushed and shook his head. Kenny knew a lot of things; maybe he’d know this too! She just hoped he wouldn’t be mad if she disturbed him, if he was she’d just blame Baldy.

 

“Kenny? Kenny? Are you awake?”

 

Zaraki – Captain of Squad Eleven – opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his little Yachiru-chan’s big, bright, brown eyes looking down at him with a mixture of worry and happiness, and her beautiful, pink hair bobbing slightly as she leaned closer for a better look at him.

 

Her face was a little flushed so she’d probably been busy running about Soul Society, which was a thought that always made him proud to call her his adoptive daughter, after all not many Shinigami after all put such emphasis on information gathering and Yachiru was already a master at it. He hated to admit it but he was proud of everything she did. She was so young and yet her powers were so great, almost all the Soul Reapers liked her, and no doubt when she became old enough she’d be a captain with enough strength to give him a decent fight.

 

The very sight of Yachiru always made his heart swell in a way which – to be honest – scared him, and not because he had fears of attachment, but because he was the fearsome Zaraki and yet he had a paternal bond with a small child. He felt an urge to protect her, nurture her and adore her and should anyone hurt her his blood would boil and his eyes would see red, she was – and always would be – his little girl. It made him feel weak to need another and their presence, almost less of a man, and yet he wouldn’t trade this feeling he had for her for anything in the world, she was his and he loved her. He would never admit it to anyone else or even say it aloud, but his feelings were there nonetheless. So when he saw her he smiled. It was a long, toothy kind of smile but it was there nonetheless.

 

“I’m awake.”

 

Yachiru pouted. She was perhaps the most adorable creature in the world when she used that expression; her lips would come out and her cheeks would turn red, and they’d be a slight frown in her eyes that made her look even younger than she was, and the very sight made even manly men like Ikkaku find a girlish, maternal instinct and bend to her will. Zaraki was terrified of the time when she’d grow up, especially if she became a stunner, he’d be fighting away men by the boatload, and being in an all-male squad too . . . it almost made him shiver.

 

“Kenny!” She whined, “If you’re awake why are you lying all alone here for? Why aren’t you out training or napping?”

 

He smiled broadly before closing his eyes. He took a few deep breaths and that sat up, the hard wooden floor underneath him making his older body ache in protest as he moved.

 

“I was talking to my Zanpakuto. He still won’t tell me his name.”

 

“Aw! I’m sure he will do, Kenny! Before you didn’t even know he was a he, so that has to be good right? It’s progress! Soon you’ll have a bankai just like Ichi-nii!”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He gave a deep sigh and looked out across the Soul Society.

 

His room was a lot like the head-captain’s room in style, open so that he had a perfect view of the gardens and Seireitei, and each day after his nap he could open his eyes and see the landscape in one large go, thankful for the change in surroundings and being able to escape his past. There were other rooms of course, and he made sure to use them all except for the office, being in there meant paperwork and that was one thing he never deigned to do, in fact he wasn’t even sure who the hell did the squad’s paperwork for that matter. No one ever disturbed him wherever he was, and for that he was both relieved and frustrated, one of these days he wanted someone to barge in just for the fun of fighting him. One day . . .

 

He sighed and rested his hand on the hilt of his Zanpakuto: silence. Of course he expected silence, but he longed for words and speech, he longed to speak to that soul which had been twinned to him since birth, that soul which walked his path and lent him its power. If only he could speak to that soul! He wanted to communicate with it, learn its name, and learn how to wield bankai! At the minute he merely stole from his Zanpakuto, he couldn’t call it borrowing when both he and his weapon were out of sync, harming each other more than they helped one another, but he’d change that, he’d get stronger and he’d change that.

 

It was then he remembered Yachiru.

 

He looked down at her as he stood and wondered lightly what brought her back so soon, usually she’d leave him during his naps and be back in time for more training or for a drinking session. She was too young to drink but he always allowed her a tiny sip of sake, the rest of the evening she drank green tea, and then of course they’d retire to bed. Today however he’d napped late so that he’d probably skip training, meet squad eight for a drinking party, then retire for his daily bath before sorting his hair and going to bed. It still begged the question though what his little Yachiru-chan wanted from him, especially so badly as to disturb him.

 

“You’re back early, Yachiru.” He said, the bells in his hair gently tinkling as he moved his head, “Is something the matter?”

 

Her little pout changed now into a full-out angry face. Her eyebrows knotted together and there was a fire in her eyes that made him smile, one day he’d teach her how to harness and use that anger and use it in her fighting, if she could only reign in that rage and use it at will it would increase her strength tenfold. There were signs of her already being able to use it at will, but she wasn’t quite there yet . . .

 

“No one will answer my question, Kenny!” She whined with a tone of irritation, “Bya-kun just said it wasn’t his place and to ask you, then when I asked again gave me a sticky bun! It was yummy but when I’d finished I forgot what I’d wanted to ask.”

 

She gave a confused face at that that made Zaraki smile, she had yet to work out the sticky buns were a clever act of manipulation on Byakuya’s part, a ruse to either distract her or shut her up. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction when she was old enough to understand, she’d either manipulate the situation for all it was worth or be royally pissed, and he hoped to God it was the latter solely for entertainment purposes. Eventually her face changed back to a pout, and she folded her arms childishly as she looked up at Zaraki.

 

“Then I spoke to Ichi-nii!” She said excitedly, “He just blushed though and told me to go ask someone else too! Why won’t they tell me, Kenny?”

 

Zaraki blinked a few times and then put a hand to his head. He was starting to feel the beginnings of a migraine coming, he knew how easy it was to frustrate Byakuya but to make Ichigo blush required some skill, or at least as far as Zaraki knew . . . So it could only make him wonder what questions she had, if it was ‘the’ question then he wasn’t sure how he’d react, and he was oddly terrified. He was sure that puberty was a long way off yet, so there was little point sending her to Unohana for a talk of that nature, and if it was the baby talk then he _definitely_ didn’t want to tell her about that himself . . . Yumichika seemed stable and mature enough, maybe he could make him do it?

 

“What’s the matter, Yachiru?” He asked, feeling a déjà vu.

 

“I want to know why Yumi and Baldy are acting so odd! Baldy keeps beating up the new recruits and Yumi keeps filing documents, they won’t talk to each other and when I ask them why they blush and go all weird! Baldy promised to make me a playhouse if I didn’t ask questions, and Yumi said he’d give me sweets if I didn’t talk about Baldy, and it’s even more weird considering what happened last night, Kenny!”

 

“Yeah? What happened last night?”

 

“I went to Baldy’s room and the door was locked! He was making these odd noises but so was Yumi, I know he was in there too because he kept yelling at Baldy, it sounds like they were sparring but I think Baldy was winning! I went back to my room after but Yumi seemed to walk funny in the morning so Baldy really did win the fight! So if they were sparring how can they be angry at each other today, Kenny? Angry people don’t spar, they fight, and they weren’t fighting noises, they were sparring noises.”

 

Zaraki made a noise in the back of his throat somewhere between shock and confusion, which luckily came across as a masculine grunt, not that anyone else was around to hear it, and even if they were they wouldn’t have dared said anything to their captain. Truthfully, he was quite stunned.

 

There was relief at the fact she hadn’t any serious adult questions or had a curiosity for adult issues, but he felt a complete puzzlement at how to answer her without explaining anything out of her depth, or ruining her innocence. He considered himself beyond lucky that Yachiru seemed to find her colleagues’ behaviour normal, something related to sparring and fighting, but at the same time this was a dangerous territory that bordered that line between adulthood and childhood. If he played this wrong he could slip up and have a whole new set of questions to answer, or he could unwittingly make the whole thing seem _too_ childlike to the point she’d want to join in with the ‘sparring’, which would be a whole new level of embarrassment for everyone.

 

The problem was he lacked a way with words and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain this to her, but he knew he couldn’t send her to anyone else because she was his and she trusted him, looked up to him and came specifically to him. He had a duty as her father figure to deal with the issue, but he also knew that if he sent her to another captain to deal with she’d feel unable to come to him with questions or problems, and that was _not_ what he wanted. He knew the teenage years to come would be a bitch, and the last thing he wanted was to inspire secrecy now in her childhood years, he wanted her to be open and honest with him so he could deal with later problems as they arose. Besides . . . he couldn’t trust any other captains to tell her, after all Kyoraku would be brutally honest, Ichimaru was long gone and Byakuya wouldn’t do it even if he asked. He didn’t particularly like or trust the other captains enough to even consider them.

 

Huh, one thing was for sure, the moment he found Ikkaku and Yumichika he was going to make them pay for this, because _no one_ got the better of Zaraki, and this -? This was getting the better of him . . .

 

“Heh, Yachiru,” He said, deciding to follow the ‘sparring’ analogy as it was clearly something his little girl understood well, “There’s different reasons people spar. People like you, me and Ikkaku are natural fighters and people like us enjoy the heat of battle, the violence and the blood, whereas people like Yumichika, Byakuya or Ukitake prefer friendly sparring and don’t like to get hurt. If Yumichika and Ikkaku are angry at each other it’s probably because of how they fought. Ikkaku probably hurt Yumichika or maybe Yumichika went easy on Ikkaku.”

 

That was probably the most awkward thing he’d ever had to say, not because he’d said anything particularly awkward but because as far as analogies went he knew what that one really meant, and the thought of discussing his third and fifth seats ‘sparring matches’ made him sick.

 

Zaraki was a simple man with simple needs, like an animal he lived for survival and the basic ‘eat, kill, fuck, repeat’ approach – he ate to survive, he fucked for pleasure and he killed for fun, that was his life. He was also everything his squad aspired to be, a ‘manly man’ who was a capable fighter and all around tough and hard. He knew his men were all of the same breed as him but that didn’t mean he wanted to think about what they were doing, after all he logically knew what they did, but knowing something rationally and then actually thinking about it were too different things. He could sit around and discuss anything with his men, but there was a line and anything personal crossed that line, because that’s how his men were, talking about sex was fine but their own personal sex lives wasn’t. Yumichika and Ikkaku were friends to him, and thinking about what they did was just downright borderline traumatising. He was definitely going to kick their asses when he saw them, if only just to distract himself from the scarring mental images.

 

He looked down to see if what he said made sense to Yachiru, or at least on a superficial level she could relate to. He wanted her to know that at some point the ‘sparring match’ had gone wrong and the two were left unsatisfied with the fight, that explanation should have suited her after all and hopefully put an end to this whole topic of conversation.

 

Yachiru however still seemed confused . . .

 

“But, Kenny,” She asked innocently, looking up at him with wide eyes and a tiny little pout, “Their sparring match seemed to go well, they weren’t angry at each other and they really enjoyed the fight! It’s just this morning that they seemed angry at each other. Why are they angry at each other when they enjoyed sparring so much last night? I heard Maki-Maki say to someone that the two were insecure, but why would being insecure make them mad at each other?”

 

Zaraki let out a low groan and cricked his neck.

 

He could understand physical things like the thrill of a fight or the lust for blood, and he could figure out people’s reactions to hunger, pain or arousal, but when the issue lay deeper it made things more puzzling for him. It wasn’t that he was stupid and couldn’t understand deeper problems or emotions, but it was simply that such matters bored him and he liked to keep things simple. Why worry what someone thinks of you when their opinions are worthless, why trouble yourself with love when there’s far more important things to worry about? It didn’t make sense to him to look too deep into things, but that’s exactly what Yachiru was doing: looking deeper.

 

So what if his men were angry at one another? They could either fight it out or shut up and put up, it didn’t seem to matter _why_ they were mad or _how_ to fix it, but to Yachiru it seemed that it did. Who knew, maybe it was a woman thing, like how that Ryoka girl seemed to be so in touch with things, but if that was the case it just proved that women were the weaker and irrational sex.

 

Still, if he had to guess what was bothering those two knuckleheads he could hazard an easy guess, after all they were both so predictable in everything they did and said, always the same problems and same attitudes, like they were constantly reading off a script. Ikkaku would worry about how he looked and spout the same nonsense about his lover finding him unattractive, whilst Yumichika would complain that he couldn’t trust Ikkaku not to abandon him when he opened up or not to get killed in the heat of battle. It seemed pretty much to Zaraki that the two had trust issues, which worried him and not because he cared about their loves lives, – hell no, he didn’t care in the slightest – but because if a squad didn’t completely trust one another then it was weaker in the heat of battle. He didn’t want a weak squad. If he had to beat trust into them then he would, he wasn’t going to let them take the squad down with them.

 

“Yachiru,” He said firmly, “You know what Zanpakuto it is that Yumichika has?”

 

She tilted her head and raised her finger to her lips in thought, like Zaraki she had a habit of looking upward when thinking and it was a gesture that looked truly adorable on her too. When she’d thought long enough she gave a bright smile and jumped up a few times, “I know, Kenny! It’s a peacock!”

 

“Right, and what’s so special about peacocks?”

 

“Err, they’re pretty?”

 

Zaraki smiled. “They are, but there’s more to it than that.” He sat down on the floor cross-legged to become on eye-level with her, to make sure she knew he was talking to her as an equal and a fellow Shinigami. “Peacocks are really good-looking birds with huge tails, and they use those tails to attract a mate, it’s the only thing they can do to a attract a mate. Yumichika is kind of like a peacock.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. He thinks the prettier he is the more people will like him, he doesn’t think he has anything else to offer, and hidden beneath those feathers he’s hiding something, something he’s scared to show us. Those feathers distract all of us from the real him.” Zaraki said with a sadistic-looking grin before staring off into the landscape, “Ikkaku is just pissed because he loves Yumichika for who he is, and Yumichika is still scared and won’t tell him his secrets, he still keeps his tail up to distract Ikkaku.”

 

Yachiru smiled warmly.

 

Now she understood! They sparred because they loved each other but they fought because they were angry, and Baldy was angry with Yumi because he was hiding something and was insecure! That was stupid though, because Yumi was nice and friendly and always on her side, he’d never hide anything nasty or mean from Baldy, so why was Baldy so worried? Maybe he was just selfish and wanted to know everything, he seemed selfish, he’d always fight the best opponents and not save any of the fight for anyone else, and poor Yumi was always forced to watch the fights. Maybe that’s why Yumi was mad, because he didn’t get to spar as much as Ikkaku?

 

She hummed in thought and then let out a loud giggle, it was a happy sound because she knew nothing bad would happen because Kenny wouldn’t let it! She didn’t quite understand everything but she knew she didn’t need to, because she knew everything would be okay, it always was. So she bounced a little and then ran over to the steps and into the garden, stopping the moment she set foot onto the green grass.

 

“But Kenny? If that’s why Baldy is mad at Yumi, why is Yumi mad at Baldy?”

 

He couldn’t bring himself to roll her eyes at her, so instead he gave a kind of embarrassed grin and stared up lazily to the ceiling; “Unlike a boy peacock a female peacock isn’t pretty at all, Yachiru. It’s ugly, plain and it’s pretty aggressive. Ikkaku thinks he’s nothing more than a peahen – a female peacock – and so he doesn’t think Yumi can love him, which is why Yumi is angry with him. Ikkaku goes around acting angry, fighting all the time, just to show off and prove he’s got something that’s good about him, even if he’s not pretty. Yumichika’s just pissed because he’s worried about Ikkaku, he could die fighting and if he did it’d be believing Yumichika didn’t love him, that he wasn’t as good as his partner.”

 

“That’s silly!”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Yachiru would never understand grown-ups at all. Yumi was like a peacock, he thought he only had his looks to make people like him and hid things, and Baldy was like a peahen and was argumentative because he thought he was ugly, and was willing to die to prove himself worthy. It made her wonder if all the other grown-ups were like animals too. The thought made her laugh! If that were the case then she had to wonder what the other Shinigami would be, she’d be a cat because they were pretty and cute, but what about Koma-Koma, he was already an animal! Maybe if he was a doggy that meant he acted more like a person than the people did, because people could only act like animals? That meant Koma-Koma was a person!

 

She looked out over the garden and thought for a long minute. The gardens were pretty today, maybe someone from squad four had came to make them pretty, but they still weren’t as nice as Bya-kun’s! Oh, speaking of Bya-kun, she had to wonder about him and why he was so strange around Kenny, after all the two always seemed to argue but it was a different kind of arguing that never seemed to go anywhere, and they were always on missions together too but when they were Yachiru couldn’t go with them! Bya-kun was all pretty and nice but he was so cold and quiet with people, but Kenny was the opposite, he tried to scare people when they saw him but he acted all happy and nice with them! Maybe – maybe – oh! She understood; she knew now what was up! She’d go tell Bya-kun and then it’d all be fixed and he’d be happy again, just like Kenny!

 

“You’re so smart, Kenny! Thanks for explaining things to me! I’m going now!”

 

Zaraki stood up slowly and shrugged, “Where to, Yachiru?”

 

“To go tell Bya-kun he’s being silly of course! Just because he’s a peacock doesn’t mean he has to be all grumpy, he can be happy like you, he just needs a peahen to play with! I’m going to tell him what you said about peacocks, Kenny!” She said jumping up and down, “See you soon!”

 

“Hey, wait a -.”

 

Before he had time to even blink she’d flash-stepped out of the garden and out of sight. He could already feel a sense of dread but knew better than to chase her, she was faster than he was and he had no sense of direction, plus he doubted the Kuchiki manor would be open to him just ‘dropping in’ like how Yachiru tended to do. Then again he hadn’t anything to worry about, she was just a kid, whatever she’d say no one would take any notice and if they did they wouldn’t dare say anything to him. He was Zaraki Kenpachi after all. It was then something struck him . . .

 

Ugh, he could only hope Peacock and Peahen were two nicknames that _didn’t_ stick. One day he’d have to have a word with her about those damn nicknames of hers, but until then at least he was better off than ‘Pachinko Head’ or ‘Doggy’.

 

“Wait,” He mumbled to the air, “Did – did she just call me a _peahen_?”

 


	2. Chapter One

# Chapter One: Ikkaku/Yumichika

 

Despite what his colleague’s seemed to think Yumichika did _not_ enjoy filing, paperwork, documenting or research.

 

The whole task of anything related to administration was nothing but a bore in his eyes; something contrived to make his life feel longer and his training sessions shorter. It was a task that was not only a waste of time but completely pointless to all involved. Squad Eleven was a fighting squad, the first line of the Seireitei’s defence and the first to attack any hostile intruders, they trained their bodies to the very peak of perfection and worked on becoming the strongest in existence. Surely such a squad had no need for paperwork? What could one possibly say of any interest or meaning when the whole squad did nothing but train, fight and train some more? It wasn’t like the were in Squad Ten and in charge of said administration, or in a wimpy place like Squad Four where exact measurements were needed for medicines or careful records needed to be kept of patients. So what good was it in having their prized fighters letting their bodies go to waste, solely to write out papers that would likely never be read?

 

He’d much rather be like Yachiru who had no real worries other than snacking, or like Ikkaku who either napped or fought for pleasure in constant training, or even like Captain who lived for fights and drinking. His only consolation of course was that if he snacked like Yachiru he’d gain weight, if he fought like Ikkaku he’d be scarred all over and if he drank like the Captain he’d suffer the indignity of hangovers. In fact when he thought of it that way it was almost a _relief_ to be doing the paperwork!

 

He gave a bright beaming smile at the thought and hugged the folders tightly to his chest, a light little chuckle escaping his fine lips as he did so, relishing in the fact that the more time he spent in the murky depths of admin the less he had to worry about damaging his looks. He’d still need to exercise for an hour later of course to maintain his figure, and he’d obviously need to visit the baths to clean himself of any dust, but overall it was a lot better than having his body scratched and bruised or his clothes dirtied by new recruits.

 

It was just a shame the offices down here were so _dank_ and _dirty_. He’d have to have Captain send in a request to Squad Four for one of their men to clean it up, that or they could save it for ‘punishment’ or ‘hazing’ for the unseated officers. Come to think of it Squad Four seemed to clean up after them a lot, surely that squad wasn’t large enough to clean the offices, barracks and training areas of all the Gotei Thirteen? Hmm, he’d have to ask Renji and Matsumoto at some point who cleaned up after their squads.

 

Yumichika carefully placed one of his files on the top of his pile onto the shelf, then made his way over into Section F, Subsection B; it had always surprised him just how large these offices were, perhaps the previous captain was more into paperwork than the current captain? No, no, that couldn’t be right, the shelves were all nearly empty after all and it seemed such a waste of space, perhaps they could convert this area into something more useful and use one of the store rooms for documents, he’d be sure to look into the matter and see. He had to stop by Squad Ten in an hour anyway to deliver copies of the reports, he’d ask about planning permission there.

 

Somehow it never occurred to him that for someone who hated academic and administrative tasks he always seemed to be so good at it, he was always the one who volunteered for the jobs as they arose, and always the one who got things done as far as his squad was concerned. He was the backbone of Squad Eleven, the glue that held everything together whether he or his comrades realised it or not, without him the whole squad would probably collapse into chaos within seconds. Yet even if he knew that he wouldn’t have appreciated his current work environment any more, the place looked like it belonged in the inner circles of hell . . .

 

The whole administration room was located in a basement room underneath one of the squad’s barracks, the room was thus perpetually dark and dreary, and occasionally dust tended to fall on you when someone stamped to hard on the floor above. He was pretty certain the unseated officers’ common room was above him, and because it was often used for fighting and training you often became prone to showers of dust, and so that was why he was always careful to plan his visits to the admin room when he knew everyone else was busy or training elsewhere. Today however he’d been so desperate to avoid Ikkaku that he’d came immediately down into the admin and began work, he was lucky to avoid the dust clouds and crumbling plaster that fell from the ceiling, but he was still stuck in a mouldy labyrinth of bookcases and piles of folders, hardly a dignified setting for someone like himself. Everything so enclosed, so claustrophobic so dull and boring. In fact the only visitor he’d had all day was Yachiru who insisted on ‘playing’ and asking him about ‘Baldy’, it said quite a lot about how lonely it was when he missed his lieutenant . . . 

 

He gave a long sigh and placed his pile of documents on the empty shelf in front of him. Perhaps it was time for a well-deserved lunch-break? He’d been working all morning and afternoon, only stopping for half-an-hour for his o-bento box, and now it had to be at least four o’clock, perhaps even later. One of the fellow seated officers had came down only an hour ago to say that Captain was finished napping, asking if he wished to join the squad – minus Yachiru – for a well needed drinking session with Squad Eight, and he’d denied them. It was an odd request too, drinking sessions usually happened quite late in the evening, how long had he been working? It really was time to get out of there. His work would still be there tomorrow . . . no one else would so much as touch it, let alone do it. Bastards.

 

He turned to leave and headed out from in between the two ceiling-high bookcases into the main aisle. The moment he stepped foot into the aisle however he turned his head and caught sight of Ikkaku, the taller man standing absently at the far end of the room with his back to Yumichika, looking around as if looking for someone.

 

Yumichika felt his whole body tense and slowly turned around, hoping to duck back into one of the rows of bookcases before he was spotted, he’d barely took one step however before he heard someone shouting his name.

 

“Yo, Yumi!”

 

Mentally kicking himself he reigned in his frown and turned around to face Ikkaku with a bright – if forced – smile upon his features. He brushed back his hair with an elegant, yet flirtatious, flick of his hand and tilted his head to one side to look upon his lover with an idle curiosity. Ikkaku was already bounding down the aisle most ungracefully, his Zanpakuto balancing on his shoulder as he stared almost lecherously at Yumichika.

 

“You’re not still sulking down here, are you? Captain says to get your ass up into Squad Eleven barracks immediately, says your going to have a drink whether you want one or not,” Ikkaku nodded to the door and smirked, “We had a bet going if you were still down here. Captain said there was no way there was enough work to last you a whole day, and Lieutenant Kusajishi took the bet by saying you probably left after ‘Maki-Maki’ came to fetch you, but I’m the only one who thought you’d still be down here. Looks like I win! Lucky!”

 

“Congratulations, Ikkaku.” Said Yumichika curtly.

 

He glanced across the room to a clock high above the door to the exit. It seemed it was now nearly six in the evening, meaning that Kyoraku-Taichou had escaped work early with plans to see Ukitake-Taichou in the evening, and that Zaraki-Taichou was too exhausted to hang around any longer and craved a hot bath and bed. Any other squad would have been in serious trouble for having an early day to take part in a drinking session, how his own squad and Kyoraku-Taichou’s got away with it, he wasn’t sure. He shook his head and headed straight back to his paperwork, maybe if he acted busy then Ikkaku would take no for an answer and leave him alone. He could hope anyway.

 

“What’s your problem, Yumi?” Ikkaku snapped, lifting his Zanpakuto high off his shoulder to point it directly at Yumichika as he began to work again, “You’ve been pissed at me ever since I was making fun of those geeks in Squad Four this morning, is it my fault that they and Squad Five are full of wimpy kido-types? Any one would think you’d felt sorry for them.”

 

Yumichika bristled at once and slammed his folders hard onto the bookcase.

 

He made such a racket that Ikkaku looked strangely at him with interest and mild annoyance, but it was when Yumichika turned to face him with a look of sheer fury that it hit him just how pissed his lover was. In response he merely blinked back in shock and sheathed his Zanpakuto. Sure he was willing to take on nearly anyone in a fight but he wasn’t foolish enough to start a fight with his boyfriend for no reason, especially in the filing room where one stray attack would have everything out of order and destroyed. So instead he leant lazily against a bookcase and gazed at his lover lazily. 

 

Yumichika was standing there tall and graceful as ever, posture perfect and arms folded elegantly across his chest in a mock authoritative pose, even when he was furious he couldn’t bring himself to stand in a ‘manly’ way and kept his legs together and body lithe and posed.

 

He was obviously angry but his anger just made him look passionate, alive and raw, it made him seem almost ravishing and tempting so that Ikkaku just wanted to wipe that expression from his face, and God only knew that angry sex was the best kind of sex. When Yumichika stood so controlled and poised, so conceited and furious, it made Ikkaku instinctively want to grab him and put him in his place, show him who was boss, claim him and take him and prove to him just who was in charge. It made him want to feel that body clawing at his back and hissing in irritation before screaming, losing all that control he once had, and then to have him bask in the afterglow and admit how wrong he’d been. Sadly fights with Yumichika usually began with avoidance and ended with a long week of celibacy to which Ikkaku would – less than manly – beg Yumichika to forgive him.

 

“Come on, Yumi,” Ikkaku said with a powerful glare, “If anyone has any right to be angry then it’s me. I’m the one who should be pissed here, not you.”

 

“Oh? And why is that?”

 

The glare he shot Ikkaku was far from cold, in fact it was so full of emotion it made the taller man reel back in shock. Those purple eyes seemed to shimmer with a layer of water, threatening to set forth a wave of tears that should never be shed in their infamous squad, and the way they narrowed and clenched was both beautiful and heartbreaking. He could see the red tinge to his lover’s cheeks, one which the other would no doubt hate for clashing with his orange accessories, but one that made him seem so much more human and warm. His fingers were also clenching hard upon his black kosode, and his lips were taut into a tight line made them seem ready to break open into a scream at any second.

 

Ikkaku wasn’t sure he should answer at first, scared of upsetting his lover even more, but he was hurt too. He was hurt by the things Yumichika said, by the things Yumichika did, he was hurt that no matter how much he opened up to his lover that his lover still hid things from him, like now – even though he was obviously upset – he still couldn’t tell Ikkaku what was bothering him. He was also hurt by – oddly as it sounded – his lover’s beauty, because _every single damn day_ his lover obsessed with his looks and appearance, constantly in love with himself but also picking flaws. He’d complain about his eyelashes and enhance them with feathers, complain about his chest and so hide it with a neckpiece, and it seemed that there wasn’t anything about him couldn’t be improved. It made Ikkaku feel ugly and pathetic, and how else was he meant to feel? Yumichika was a _god_ and if someone as perfect as him felt ugly and weak, then what must he see in Ikkaku with his lack of hair or overly muscled body? What could he possibly see in Ikkaku when every time he looked at himself he only see flaws, flaws on a perfect being!

 

It was hard not to risk his lover’s wrath by going closer to him, but Ikkaku felt both hurt and rejected, all throughout the day Yumichika had hidden away and worried about himself, allowing himself to feel angry, and not once had he sought out Ikkaku to ask him how _he_ felt. That was always the way! Yumi loved him, if he had so much as a scratch he’d be right by his side, and when they’d been severely injured during the Ryoka attack Yumi had even insisted on sharing a room in Squad Four, and when he’d been hurt during the Arrancar attack he’d heard Kira had had to knock him out because he’d hysterically tried to help him. Kira of all people! It was almost laughable. Yumi had been by his side in Rukongai, joined alongside him in Gotei Thirteen, and supported him ever since and yet - . . . and yet Yumi still hid things from him, make him feel so damned ugly, and could never reveal his emotional state. It made Ikkaku wonder where the trust was, if it was even there, because how could you spend your life with someone and still keep secrets? Hadn’t he told Yumi about his own bankai, about his own secrets, why couldn’t he do the same back?

 

He walked down between the aisle of bookcases to the far end where Yumichika stood, shaking slightly in fear for how long the silence had progressed, and then stood a few feet away from him to give him some space.

 

“There’s a few things pissing me off, Yumi,” He said calmly.

 

“Like what?”

 

He caught a look of complete fear in Yumichika’s features, one that was so brief it was like a flash of lightning, something obvious but so sudden it may as well have existed only in the mind’s eye, and yet so powerful you couldn’t doubt its existence.

 

Ikkaku wondered what caused that fear, it wasn’t as if he feared bodily harm as he knew Ikkaku would never harm him, and even if he did Yumichika could put up one hell of a fight, so all that left was the fear of emotional pain. That was a question in itself, what the hell kind of emotional hurt could he be scared of? There was something his lover wasn’t telling him, something he wasn’t saying, and it hurt him and it hurt him a lot. It was like a sharp stab into his abdomen followed with a feeling of an adrenaline rush and a fast beating of his heart, he felt like he wanted to scream and hurt someone for a wound that wasn’t there, and when he thought about it he realised that pain was one of betrayal. He felt betrayed. He’d told Yumi everything and Yumi couldn’t do the same back, he couldn’t trust Ikkaku for whatever reason, and the realisation that whatever he said wouldn’t make any difference was so frustrating! He wanted to yell ‘trust me’ but what good would that do? None.

 

“Well like for one how you always bitch about your looks and obsess over them.”

 

He scratched his neck and stared off into space for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he was starting off with the small things in order to work his way up, or if he was just avoiding the real issue at hand altogether. All he knew was that he was hurt and he wanted answers, but he was also scared of the answers themselves, all he’d ever known in life was the thrill of a fight but before all of that – before he signed up with Zaraki’s squad, trained Renji, or even picked up a kendo sword – there was Yumichika. He was terrified of losing that, and the fear itself was a terrifying thing, for he was a fighter and a warrior who would confront death on a regular basis and spit in its face, to feel actual fear was an awful sensation, one hard to cope with.

 

When he looked back to Yumichika though he could see the other was now pouting, and his eyes had narrowed into a dangerous glare. He should have known that talking about appearances with his lover was dangerous territory, but it was still a lot easy than asking ‘hey, why the hell are you being so secretive with me?’ Yeah, that question would probably earn him a kick to the balls, an arrogant look of contempt and a fortnight with only his hand for company at night. Not what he wanted at all.

 

“Pardon you?” Yumichika exclaimed in a voice somewhere between high and low, his how face now narrowed along with his eyes and his lips pouting as he raised his head so that he was looking down figuratively upon Ikkaku, “What is wrong with my looks?”

 

“What? Nothing! That’s not what I meant!”

 

“Oh, then what did you mean?”

 

Ikkaku rolled his eyes and shrugged. This wasn’t going right at all, he was going to have to pick his words very carefully if he wanted to salvage himself from this mess he’d made. It was hard though when his lover had clearly put up that mental wall and was acting through a cold façade, ready to attack at the first provocation and block out anything remotely offensive to his sensibilities. Ikkaku was used to it however but it still didn’t mean he found it easy to deal with.

 

“What I mean is,” He said calmly, “Is that you always try and make yourself look better when you already look pretty damn hot, it’s just a knock on my confidence to see my boyfriend all ‘I look so awful today!’ when you look perfect, it makes me wonder how badly I have to look. It’s obvious I’m not exactly as gifted as you as far as appearances go, so if you think you look bad then . . .”

 

Yumichika froze at that in such a way it made Ikkaku wonder if he’d stepped out of line somehow, but then a flash of pain and regret came over his lover’s features and softened out any anger they once held. Instead his eyes now held a look of compassion and understanding, of love and empathy, and when he looked at Ikkaku it was nothing but adoration and a need for redemption. He gave such a sad smile that Ikkaku wanted nothing more than to kiss him hard, to make the pain go away, and he felt a kind of regret for even mentioning something that could cause his mate such pain. It surprised him in fact how much his words _did_ affect Yumi, and it just reminded him of how strong their relationship really was.

 

When that sad smile faded away Yumi raised his hand to cup Ikkaku’s face, his long fingers tracing a light path down his prominent jawbone only to rest on his full and thick lips. Then with a gentle gesture he leant forward and placed a soft peck on his lover’s mouth, a gentle and chaste gesture but one full of meaning and love, one full of everything they’d came to feel for one another.

 

“Ikkaku, you’re beautiful, not just to me but to everyone,” He said, moving his body closer so that they were within inches of one another, “You may have a slight complex with your shortness of hair –” He carefully avoided the term ‘being bald’ so as not to cause offence, “– but even Yachiru thinks it suits you, and in many cultures it’s considered a sign of fertility.”

 

Ikkaku scoffed at that, “Good load of good that will do us.”

 

His lover frowned at that and pulled his hand away to rest on his own mouth, biting on the knuckle of his index finger nervously, his other arm wrapping around his stomach, the gesture both defensive and of anger.

 

“You don’t want children one day?”

 

“What the -? You’re as bad as Renji! Makes me wonder how the pair of you ever graduated,” He laughed even though Yumichika pouted, probably confused seeing as he apparently lacked an understanding of basic biology – that or Ikkaku was seriously missing something, “Look, it’s not about how I look, it’s about what _you_ think of me. When you go around acting like you do it makes me feel ugly, and I have to wonder what the hell you see in someone as ugly as me when you’re so pretty?”

 

Yumichika froze on hearing that. He felt devastated that he’d inspired such feelings in his lover, the very thought he’d caused someone else to feel ugly was in itself a very ugly thing, in fact the only ‘ugly’ person he knew was that ridiculous Ryoka he’d been forced to battle long ago. Ikkaku was a beautiful man – barring the fact he just called Yumichika ‘pretty’ and not ‘handsome’ – and he was interesting, intelligent, powerful and kind-hearted, he was good with his hands too and very loving, even building Yachiru a scooter for her birthday. He was perhaps the most beautiful person Yumichika knew, and to make somebody else feel that they were _ugly_ was appalling! He couldn’t imagine ever himself feeling like that, and so to make someone else feel that way, especially someone he loved . . .

 

“Ikkaku, I don’t want you to feel that way,” He said honestly and calmly, “You have no reason to. I only worry so much about my looks because I’m worried what will happen if I lose them, they’re all I have and if I lose that then I lose you, Ikkaku. I also want to look handsome for you, is that so much of a crime? If it hurts you however I’ll try to tone it down, but habits are hard to break and I can’t guarantee I can stop it all at once.”

 

Ikkaku took one look at Yumichika and smiled.

 

The poor guy was still gnawing at his finger and looking down at the floor with an expression of fear, and his face had paled considerably. He was truly scared of losing Ikkaku. He’d also admitted that everything he’d done he’d done for his lover, and so for Ikkaku to have misinterpreted his vanity as a selfish thing made him cringe inside, especially as it was all for his benefit. He knew that he’d have to work hard on showing his lover just how perfect he was from now on, even if he lost his looks he’d still be perfect with strength, smarts and loyalty to his squad. If the poor guy was that insecure and fragile it’d take a long time to build up his confidence, but Ikkaku was willing to stick at it, make him realise just how special he was.

 

He reached across and took a hold of his lover’s chin, turning him to face him so he could place his lips warmly on Yumichika’s, and then with a heartfelt gesture kissed him with all the love he felt inside him. Like always Yumi’s lips were soft, warm and moist, perfect and inviting as they parted softly with a gasp and allowed him entry, letting him slip his tongue inside and taste that exotic taste that was uniquely Yumi’s, feeling his hot mouth against his. He loved the way Yumi’s tongue would submissively give way to his, allowing him to dominate the kiss, and he loved the way Yumi would arch his back and stand on tiptoes to reach up for more. It was perfect. It would always be perfect, and so when he pulled away he smiled and pecked his lover lightly on the nose.

 

“You fool, you’re always beautiful to me.”

 

“Oh?” Yumichika snapped, “When that ridiculous Ryoka ruined my hair you laughed at me!” He glared when Ikkaku stifled a manly giggle, “And I don’t believe you. I won’t believe you until you tell me what the other thing is that’s pissing you off, it can’t be beautiful if it makes you angry and if it is me making you angry then surely I cannot be beautiful either! Thus you lie!”

 

Ikkaku leant his head against Yumi’s and sighed, his breath mingling with his partner’s as they stood silently in the gloom of the admin basement room of Squad Eleven.

 

It wasn’t that he was lying at all, he loved Yumi and he wanted to be with him, but at the same time he was forced to wonder if the other man trusted him or even loved him. To love someone was to trust them, to trust them was to open yourself up completely to them and believe everything would be okay, and to open yourself was to allow them access to your body, mind and heart and not fear harm coming to you at all. So far Yumi had entrusted Ikkaku with his body and mind, but his heart – that fragile muscle home to a store of emotions – was closed off to him and kept sealed away behind a wall of indifference and fear. Was he so wrong for wondering how someone could possibly love him who couldn’t even bring themselves to trust him?

 

He pulled back his head and looked Yumi deeply in his eyes. They were such a beautiful purple, kind of wisteria like the name of his Zanpakuto or the hilt of his sword, but at they always reflected the inner depths of his soul. He only had to look at those eyes to see if his lover was angry, sad, happy or lustful – anger was always the easiest emotion to decipher, such as the time his hair was blown into an afro style or when he was forced to make a cake for a spirit, and lust was always a pretty easy one to figure out too, but sadness however . . .

 

Even now he felt like his partner was hiding something from him, keeping a part of himself hidden away under lock and key, because any damn time he saw those eyes glimmer in sorrow it would always be accompanied with an expression of fear too. Yumichika could rarely – if ever – feel regret on its own for a past mistake, or depression over the loss of a colleague, or general lethargy after a tough week, whenever that slither of sadness shone through it’d be always, _always_ with a look of terror. He could partly understand it, he knew Renji often battled with depressive thoughts usually regarding self-worth, and whenever Renji was down he’d feel a spark of terror too, wondering who’d leave him next or if his captain hated him for not being as strong. Kira had that same fear, and so did many other Shinigami and humans too, after all everyone was afraid of something and those fears tended to bring about sadness. _However_ those people also allowed themselves to simply _feel,_ allowed themselves to be sad without any other emotion in the way, but Yumichika couldn’t and wouldn’t, always – even now – they’d be that fear. Why?

 

“I’m not lying, Yumi,” He said, rolling his eyes, “I admit it, I’m pissed off at you, but only because I know you’re hiding something. It’s like you don’t trust me! I want to know what your big secret is, and if you don’t tell me -.”

 

“If I don’t tell you, then what?”

 

Ikkaku shrugged.

 

He knew full well how he wanted to end that sentence, because frankly he knew no matter how much he loved and adored this man he couldn’t be with someone so secretive, he couldn’t keep on guessing what he was feeling or what he wanted, merely hoping things were going well. He’d always be friends with Yumi, always love him, but romantically it would have to be over.

 

It hurt him too much to wake up each day and not know what was going on in his lover’s mind, it made him so angry to see that face and not be able to trust whether Yumi trusted him or not, it drove him to the brink of insanity always worrying, always thinking, always fearing what was in that heart that belonged to his lover. The questions he felt and wondered, like whether Yumi could trust him or whether his secret was so big it would him them, they went around and around in his head until he couldn’t think anymore, and it wasn’t a way to live. He needed certainties and trust, he needed more than what they currently had.

 

“I don’t know, Yumichika,” Ikkaku admitted, “I love you but I can’t keep living like this. Every time I fight I fight to the death knowing I could die, and I see the fear in your eyes and know that you love me; it’s what gives me the courage to keep fighting and what gives me the resolve to win. It hurts me to hurt you and so I try to avoid opponents where death is a certainty. That’s what confuses me, the fact I know you love me and yet you can lie to me day in, day out, and I know I’m lucky to have you! Lucky, lucky, lucky! Yet how can someone who loves me not be able to trust me? What is it your hiding, Yumi, that you think you can’t trust me with?”

 

Yumichika swallowed hard at this and raised his hand to cover his mouth. The movement was graceful, but there was a slight shake to his fingers that made it obvious how nervous he truly was. He looked at Ikkaku with a paled face, narrowed eyes and an expression of complete and utter fear, the face in itself made Ikkaku jerk back in surprise and blink in shock. Suddenly he was terrified, wishing he could take back the question, because whatever it was to bring about such a reaction in Yumichika had to be bad, and if it was so bad as this he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what it was . . .

 

All Yumichika felt however was absolute terror. It was like being caught in a catch twenty-two, like being given an ultimatum where he was damned it he did and damned if he didn’t. He knew deep inside that if he kept things secret he’d be risking his relationship with his lover, maybe even destroying the one good thing in his life by his own act of mistrust, and the thought of that broke something deep inside him and made him wince at his own weakness. He also knew that if he told Ikkaku the truth, told him exactly what he’d been hiding, then the man would hate him, loathe him, look at him with a whole new expression and his eyes would convey the disgust he so often looked at others with. He’d also lose his place on the Zaraki Squad and lose the respect of his esteemed colleagues; in short he’d lose it all. He wasn’t sure whether to keep quiet and eventually lose Ikkaku over time, or to speak up and damn himself to his lover’s hate. It didn’t seem to matter what he did he would lose his lover regardless! He was going to lose Ikkaku!

 

Oh God, the very thought of losing the man he so loved and adored killed him inside.

 

There was an actual physical pain that came with the thought of losing his loved one, and it was a pain that always came when he thought of being abandoned, and one he didn’t just feel for Ikkaku but for Zaraki-Taichou too. He loved those around him so much that his heart literally beat for them, the very thought of losing them for whatever reason was scarring. It made his stomach churn like butter until he could feel himself bending over, and made his throat clench and tighten like he was stuck between choking and gagging, and his eyes would feel so heavy and inflamed it was like needing to cry when no tears would come out.

 

It was a fear he’d always had and always felt, and being in the Rukongai he’d had his fair share of people leaving him for various reasons, in fact it was hard not to believe he was the source and cause for his previous loneliness. Out of all the people who’d ever left him they’d been only one common factor in all their relationships: him. He could only believe that there was something so fundamentally wrong with him that it pushed people away, caused them to hate him, and by God he’d tried everything over the years to change that! He’d cut his hair, added eyelash extensions, changed his dress sense into one more masculine, in fact he’d even changed his personality somewhat and doted more upon Ikkaku, but remembering to assert himself in a way he’d never previously done. It didn’t seem to matter what he did though or how he acted, people still left him, they were doing it now, and even Ikkaku seemed to be implying that he’d leave! It just wasn’t fair!

 

Would he ever be pretty enough, strong enough, intelligent enough to stop this from happening again, would he always be stuck alone without friends or company? Squad Eleven was all he had, Ikkaku was all he ever had – now and even back then – so the very thought of losing them was devastating, hurting him in a way in which he’d hoped never to be hurt again. If he lost Ikkaku, Zaraki-Taichou, Lieutenant Kusajishi, then he’d be all alone once more, he’d have to experience that overwhelming heartache each night that came with solitude, of knowing no matter how much you cried or screamed no one would hear you, hold you, comfort you. He never wanted to feel that way again, never!

 

“Yumi – Yumichika?” Ikkaku asked softly.

 

He shook his head in response, his wisteria-coloured hair shaking out of place and falling to frame his now reddened cheeks and flushed lips. His eyes shimmered with a film of water as he wondered just how to fix this, how to make it better, how to stop the one person he loved more than anything in the world from leaving him. The very thought of Ikkaku could make him smile, make his heart stop with joy, and to know that feeling of adoration, love and hope could be brutally ripped from him any second, to leave him with nothing but a hole inside his heart of emptiness and loneliness, it was more than he could bear, more than he could endure.

 

“Yumichika?” Ikkaku asked again with worry, “What’s wrong? What’re you hiding?”

 

“It’s my Zanpakuto.” He said. His voice was so lifeless it was like his very soul had been sucked from him, leaving him an empty shell of a man and a broken corpse, “It’s my Zanpakuto, Ikkaku.”

 

Ikkaku blinked hard a few times at this and scratched his neck.

 

He was starting to understand how Renji felt in almost all serious conversations, he was completely lost and didn’t understand in the slightest, it was like being stuck in the world of the living with a map written in German. He loved Yumichika and was willing to hear him out on any matter, in fact he’d totally expected the worst when he’d saw his lover’s reaction, but to then hear mentioned his Zanpakuto was just completely baffling. His lover’s Zanpakuto was no secret and served him well in many fights, it was never a source of contention between them because it was just a weapon, so why would it be? If anything his statement seemed random, totally out of place, like asking what the time was and somebody answering London. Still, he was going to keep an open mind, after all he was the one who asked the question.

 

“Your . . . Zanpakuto?” Ikkaku asked, “What the hell about it? I asked what you’re keeping secret and your answer’s your Zanpakuto?”

 

Yumichika raised his hand to his mouth once more and bit at his thumbnail, his head cast to one side to stare into a dusty corner filled with cobwebs, his body now leaning fully against the bookcase behind him: “Yes. His name isn’t Fuji Kujaku, it’s Ruri’iro Kujaku, and he’s a kido-type.”

 

All Ikkaku could do was stare in shock. “What?”

 

“You heard me right, Ikkaku Madarame,” Yumichika said with a tone of anger, unable to look his lover in the face, “Ruri’iro hates the colour of wisteria and so I call him Fuji to irritate him so he doesn’t release his full power, it’s mostly so that he appears to be a melee-type I wish he would be . . . partly it’s because I fail to see how azure is a prettier colour than wisteria. My eyes are wisteria after all and they are by far my greatest feature! If he wishes to undermine my beauty I have a right to undermine his.” Yumichika flicked his hair at this and resumed his usual look of contempt, which made Ikkaku snort with amusement, “Why, I resent the fact he makes my eyes azure with each Shikai!”

 

Ikkaku stood silent for a long moment, he couldn’t help it, he wasn’t sure whether he should be laughing at Yumichika for worrying about his appearance during an important confession (and moments after promising not to), or scream at him for even keeping something like this secret for so long! He wasn’t sure how to be feeling at that moment in time either, the confession in itself was a pretty big one, but at the same time he felt so _relieved_ that Yumichika wasn’t dying or cheating on him or something. It was like a whirlwind of emotions inside of him and each one was more poignant than the last, begging for his attention, and he wasn’t even sure how to react or what to say, despite the silence probably being torture for Yumi.

 

Firstly, he wasn’t happy at all that Yumi’s Shikai was a kido-type. Those who carried that sort of Zanpakuto were the ones he mocked and bullied, and those were the ones that Squad Eleven tended to hate and despise, which would mean if any of them found out Yumichika’s life would be a nightmare! Even if there was no actual rule forbidding it the squad still demanded only melee-types, and poor Yumi would be an outcast, and if Ikkaku stayed with him then so would he! Of course Captain wouldn’t stand for bullying, at least not against his Fifth Seat, and if Ikkaku stood by Yumichika’s side then the Lieutenant and Captain would _definitely_ support Yumichika. That didn’t mean the looks would stop though, or the exclusion from group activities, brutal ignoring or the cruel rumours that would start, but at least he’d have some support if anyone found out, not that they would because Ikkaku was sure as hell not going to tell anyone.

 

Secondly, he found that – oddly enough – he didn’t actually _care_ too much about what type Yumi’s Zanpakuto was. His main reason to be pissed came from the fact his boyfriend had kept a secret, not what that secret actually was. So what if Fuji – sorry – _Ruri’iro_ Kujaku was a kido-type? It didn’t stop Yumichika being as powerful as he was, hot as he was, or as loyal to his squad as he was, and even if it made him slightly more of a wimp then Ikkaku still loved him, he’d just have to be more protecting of the guy. The other thing was only wimps had kido-types and Yumichika was a strong man, so the likelihood was he was just mistaken, it wasn’t as if he’d achieved Bankai or spoken directly to his Zanpakuto in a manifested state, so maybe he was just unsure of what type he really had, and assumed the worst? Damn it, that was just like Yumichika too, always jumping to the bad places, damned fool. No wonder he’d been so scared all this time, he’d been worrying about something that wasn’t even true! Like he’d ever have a kido-type!

 

Ikkaku drew in a deep breath and smiled warmly at his lover, giving him a large grin before cupping his chin and forcing him to make eye-contact, when he did he beamed brightly and shrugged, rolling his shoulders right back in a manly way. When he spoke his words were clear, calm and loud, like he was trying to make a point to an opponent and not to his lover.

 

“You’re an idiot, Yumi,” He said, then seeing Yumichika flinch he cut him off before he could start a shouting match, “I mean we’ve known each other since we were in the Rukongai district and been lovers for as long as I can remember us being together, the fact you could think I’d hate you for Zanpakuto hurts me. Sure, I hate those wimpy, half-assed losers for not fighting like men, but even if you have a weapon likes theirs it doesn’t make you one of them. You’re one of _us,_ a member of Squad Eleven, and that’s not going to change.”

 

“So – so you won’t leave me? You won’t tell anyone?”

 

“Tch, there’s nothing to tell anyway. To be honest I don’t believe you, I think you’re mixed up about things, the day I believe my gorgeous Yumichika has a kido-type will be the day I see it with my own eyes! I won’t hate you, even if it’s true, but hell . . . it’ll be freaking weird. You’re not weak though, so until that day I’m going to believe you have a melee-type. You can’t have anything else!”

 

“I believe that’s called ‘denial’,” Yumichika replied coldly.

 

Ikkaku shrugged again, “Eh, whatever. So we’re all made up now?”

 

Yumichika merely looked away with an expression of irritation, it wasn’t an angry or hurt look just merely a show of annoyance towards his partner. Obviously he actually believed that damned Zanpakuto was of a kido-type for whatever reason, and he probably wanted Ikkaku to take him seriously, but how could he? Yumichika was a strong warrior, a terrific fighter and a marvellous fifth-seat, there just wasn’t any way that someone that strong could possibly have that type of Zanpakuto, and even if he did Ikkaku didn’t want to believe it. He’d still love Yumichika of course, but his feelings wouldn’t be the same, and how could they? It was easier just to ignore their whole argument as a misunderstanding and skip to the best part of things: making up.

 

He gently raised his hand and slid his fingers through Yumi’s silky, smooth locks and felt the warmth of his cheek against his palm, relishing in the touch and sensation, enjoying the moment of pure connection between the two of them. His body came ever closer to his lover’s, their chests almost touching, their breaths almost mingling, and then he carefully angled Yumichika’s mouth to his so that he could reach out and take it, taste him, have him. His mouth was so close, his body so desperate, and yet something stopped him. The moment he was close enough to kiss Yumi something hard, large and painful came up and smacked him in the face, blocking his lips and blinding him for a brief moment.

 

Ikkaku took a step back and rubbed his aching nose and looked at Yumichika with an irritated growl, it seemed at the last second his irate boyfriend had grabbed a folder and decided to block Ikkaku’s kiss, smacking him in the face in the process. He wouldn’t have minded as such but surely their fight was over, and damn it that hurt too! What the hell was the point in attacking him like that?

 

“You really thought I’d forgive you so easily,” Yumichika said, shaking his head as he carefully filed away the document, “How easily brought do you think I am? My forgiveness cannot be brought by a kiss, Ikkaku.”

 

“What the -! You smack me in the face with a folder because you still don’t forgive me? Jackass! I forgave _you_!”

 

“Yes, and out of all your muscles you train your brain was never one of them.”

 

“Are you calling me stupid now?”

 

Yumichika gave a rather alluring smile. His eyes became half-lidded and his eyelashes seemed to flutter in an almost come-hither way, his mouth parted just slightly as his hand came up to where Ikkaku’s had previously been, flicking his wisteria locks back temptingly. There was a slight tinge of redness to his cheeks and his eyes seemed such a darker shade of purple that they were almost blue, almost azure even, just like he’d mentioned the effects of his Zanpakuto to be.

 

The way he turned slightly to his side and placed a hand on his hip gave him a rather feminine appearance, and yet he stood tall and powerful as if to prove he was still a man, a dangerous combination of both masculine and feminine, weak and strong, and by God it was the most erotic sight Ikkaku had seen. Yumichika had always known how to turn on his charm, how to gain people’s attention and adoration, and he was fully aware of his beauty. He knew how to position his body to best catch the light, he knew how to pose in order to extract the emotions he wanted, and he knew how to batter his eyelids in order to appear as innocent as he wanted. All in all it was safe to say he was trying to tease Ikkaku, trying to lure him and trap him, arouse him into taking charge of the situation. In fact his little temper tantrum was probably just a lure to enrage Ikkaku, make him inflamed with passion and take him then and there.

 

“Yes Ikkaku, you are stupid.”

 

Yumichika said this as he sauntered between the bookcases to the far wall, his hips swinging as he walked and his eyes looked sexily over his shoulder to his lover. When he reached the wall he turned and leant against it, raising both of his hands to be on level with his head, his fingers half-closed and his head slightly to one side so as to expose his column of neck. One leg was pulled upwards so that his foot was beside his right knee, and if he were horizontal and not vertical he’d look like a virginal man about to be ravished for the first time, luring in his lover with sheer innocence, unknowing of the true impact he was capable of.

 

“You’re stupid because you know I won’t fully forgive you until you apologise, admitting that you’re willing to accept me for who I am.”

 

At this he unclipped the sash connecting his sleeve to his neckpiece and dropped it to the floor, sliding off his sleeve as he did so, the movement so slow that it was almost like a strip-show as inch by inch pale, shiny, white skin came on show. It was just his naked wrist but to see that exposed flesh made Ikkaku lick his lips, knowing that slowly but surely his lover was exposing more of himself, knowing that no one dead or alive had seen Yumichika the way he was surely about to see him. He watched as Yumi smiled devilishly before pulling off his neckpiece. His hair became ruffled at this but the look only made Ikkaku want more, to see even the slightest imperfection on his lover just reminded him of how perfect Yumi was, reminding him how gorgeous his lover could look even with something out of place. To see those prominent collarbones too, to see that V-shape of hairless chest and how it expanded on each and every breath, it was just too alluring for him to take his eyes off.

 

“You also know,” Yumichika said with his devil-may-care grin, his left hand now back at its starting place beside his head as his right hand fingered at his obi sash, “That you never usually apologise unless basking in the afterglow of sex, which although immature I have no objection to. So if you wish for my forgiveness I suggest you do not kiss me, but instead _take_ me.”

 

Ikkaku watched as he quickly untied his obi sash and threw it far out so that it reached the main aisle of admin room, but he couldn’t follow its movements for long because soon after his eyes had become riveted upon Yumi. It seemed his lover wasted no time, instead immediately dropping his Zanpakuto to one side and letting his kosode slide off his body, dropping to the floor with a sharp thud, leaving his upper body completely exposed. He then allowed his hakama to drop to the floor, toeing off his sandals and tabi, leaving him completely exposed . . .

 

It was times like these Ikkaku realised just why he loved Yumichika so much. The guy was willing to do anything for his lover and understood him so perfectly well, knowing exactly how his mind worked and reacted to things, and the fact he was willing to make love in such public places turned Ikkaku on more than he liked to admit. Sure no one ever really came down into Squad Eleven’s admin room, including Squad Eleven itself, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a chance of getting caught, and if they did they’d be hell to pay. Captain had already ordered them up for a drinking session, regardless of what the order was it didn’t pay to disobey it, and should someone get worried and send an unseated officer to check on them then they’d be caught in the act! Then again it was hard to say no when Yumichika stood there, pressed against the wall, without a single piece of clothing – Ikkaku was mentally kissing the feet of the gods that his lover had decided to go without underwear today, the whole sight was just _perfect_.

 

Yumichika’s body was truly flawless.

 

His skin was pure white with a slight shine to it, not one blemish or mark anywhere upon him, and it was so fresh and supple that one had to wonder just how he maintained it, it was always baby-soft to the touch and smelled faintly of exotic perfumes. The way he arched his neck made that silky hair fall across his high cheekbones, casting him in half-shadow so that he seemed all the more vulnerable, and his muscled chest moved up and down with a panted rhythm of breath. He was far from being overly-muscular, more well-toned and defined, but he was also quite thin and lithe with an almost curve to his figure, so that anyone – regardless of gender – would be envious of his body and flat stomach.

 

His wisteria eyes were shining azure now, luring Ikkaku in with their half-lidded look, and reminding him that there was something hidden and mysterious about Yumi, something that he just couldn’t believe was related to his Zanpakuto, and when he looked at those legs . . . Those long, supple, willowy legs seemed to call to him, begging to wrap around him and the very sight made him swallow hard. Just above those twinned columns stood Yumi’s half-hard cock, already swelling and growing as it pointed in Ikkaku’s direction, it was longer than most but thinner too, gaining in length what it lacked in width, and the very sight of it looked beyond perfect. It looked plain delicious, especially as it sat nestled in dark, purple curls that matched so well those on Yumichika’s head.

 

Ikkaku didn’t need any more incentive, immediately he began to strip himself of his own clothing, throwing items behind him so that the aisle was lined with his uniform, and he even laughed as his fundoshi caught on a book and hung down in a rather lewd way. He was now ready to take on the awesome task that was Yumichika, but before he could he looked to his lover and found himself completely awe-struck, and also riveted in place, his eyes glued to his lover.

 

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t needed any more incentive than what he had but this – _this_! – was definitely worth watching, and definitely further inspiration to his task.

 

Yumichika was standing there, his eyes locked with Ikkaku’s but his hands . . . his hands were down below. At some point as Ikkaku began to strip himself of his clothes Yumichika’s own hands had begun to explore his body, tweaking at nipples until they were rosy red and as hard as his lover’s cock, and then going even lower to explore intimate territory and prepare himself for Ikkaku’s entrance.

 

His right hand was firmly yet gently wrapped around his now hard member, pumping slowly and rhythmically as his eyes remained connected with his lover’s, and on each upward pull he’d swipe his index finger into that crying slit on the head, making himself moan out loud. Meanwhile his left hand was behind him, his left leg raised so that the foot was resting on one of the bookshelves, his puckered hole hiding slightly out of Ikkaku’s view, but that hand with its long, artistic fingers was not. He could see clearly as Yumichika pumped his fingers in and out of his body, watching as he added an extra finger each time, stretching himself and preparing himself to be taken, and each time his digit scratched upon his pleasure spot he’d cry out loud and throw his head back, pulling harshly upon Ikkaku’s predatory side. He loved the way Yumi’s face would flush red, or how his back would arch until it seemed to almost break, and the high sounds of pleasure that tumbled into throaty moans were like a drug, one that made him want more and more.

 

Unable to hold back any longer, Ikkaku marched forward with heavy steps and beating heart, his eyes nearly black for how dilated in lust they were and his member weeping in desire and hard as stone. When he reached Yumi the first thing he did was wrench those hands from his cock and rear, jealous even of Yumi’s own fingers, his desire to possess his lover so strong that he couldn’t help but feel angry a hand other than his own had touched such sacred places. In his right hand he held tight onto both of Yumichika’s wrists, pinning them high above his head, leaving his lover trapped against the wall and entirely dominated by Ikkaku. His face was now overwhelmed by an expression of lust, his lips wet and panting and skin red all over, and he was whispering almost incoherently for Ikkaku to take him.

 

Without warning Ikkaku pressed his lips firmly against Yumichika’s and brought him into a passionate kiss, his rough tongue pushed into his lover’s mouth and brought it to life, warring with it as they both tried to fight for some form of dominance, and yet both relishing in the moment enough to forgo any serious fight. He could taste Yumi’s last meal on his lips, feel the heat and warmth of his mouth, and the very kiss made his erection cry for attention, making him crave his lover’s touch all the more. His naked chest was pressed flush against Yumichika’s and he could almost feel his lover’s heartbeat as their bodies were brought together, and it made him growl possessively, forcing him to grab a hold of Yumi’s legs and lift them off of the ground.

 

Yumichika gasped and threw his hands around Ikkaku’s neck, holding tightly for support as he wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist, his buttocks now perfectly aligned with Ikkaku’s member. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest as Ikkaku slowly pushed his way inside, without any preparation – not when he knew his lover had just prepared himself – yet to feel that long, thick cock inside him made him lose his breath. It just filled and stretched him so perfectly, it almost had him seeing stars, and despite the slight burn it all felt _so_ good!

 

Ikkaku moaned loudly at the sensation of being inside of Yumichika. He couldn’t believe after all these years that he’d still be shocked at how tight his lover was! It felt like those hot, inner walls were clamping down upon him with a force he never knew possible, milking him for all he was worth and consuming him as it they wanted to draw him ever deeper inside. One hand was braced underneath Yumi to support him, the other was wrapped around his erection pumping him hard, and each time he pumped he swore he’d feel those anal walls fluttering around him. Yumi was moaning over and over, swearing occasionally, and before long he couldn’t help it, he had to move, to stay still inside that fantastic cavern was sheer torture.

 

He quickly began a hard and fast pace, unable to go softly or gentle, each thrust he purposely aimed for Yumi’s pleasure spot and he nearly screamed in ecstasy each time his lover howled in bliss, in fact his teeth were already gnawing many love-bites over his body and his fingers leaving bruises wherever they touched. He knew it wouldn’t be a long session, his body was just too overcome with lust and desire, the feeling of being connected with his lover – of being one with him – it was unlike any battle he’d ever had, it was such an adrenaline rush and the coursing pleasure was unlike any other. The feelings were indescribable, perfect, and the azure look of his eyes was like looking into the face of Love. In and out he went, setting a frantic and furious pace which none could rival and then – then he could feel Yumi coming, and hard it seemed.

 

His lover’s eyes closed as his mouth opened into a powerfully loud scream, the sound echoing from the very walls themselves, and his fingernails drove into Ikkaku’s back and raked long cuts into his tanned flesh. He could feel his lover spasm around him, his member pulsing as wave after wave of come splashed across his stomach, chest and over Ikkaku’s hand too. The sight of that perfect man in the waves of passion caused him to nearly release, it was just so exotic, so erotic, and so fucking perfect!

 

Oh God, Ikkaku knew he’d be ready to explode soon, and Yumichika knew that too; despite being sensitive from coming, gasping for breath and hot as an inferno, his lover still purposely did the tricks Ikkaku loved best. He’d clench tight on each inward thrust, play with Ikkaku’s nipples until they were hard as pebbles, then suck and nip at his lover’s neck until it was as red and bruised as his own. It was enough to get his blood pounding, his head throbbing and his heart beating so loudly he was terrified it’d bust inside his chest. He could feel the sweat dripping down his back, feel the semen dripping off Yumi’s stomach and onto his cock as it moved in and out, and soon he could feel the primal scream building in his lungs as he let out all his emotions vocally, loud enough to rival even Yumi’s scream.

 

“Yu – Yumichika!”

 

He thrust in one final type and exploded inside his lover, he could feel his stomach clenching over and over again as wave after wave of come left him, leaving him drained and wondering how much more he could spend. His body felt exhausted, weak but as if he’d reached the brink of nirvana and was covered in a spiritual, emotional and physical ecstasy of enjoyment. His very soul was shaken to the core and his love for Yumichika seemed ten times as strong as ever, and when he captured those lips for a passionate kiss he barely even noticed the feeling as his cock slipped from that come-soaked hole, all he cared about was the man in his arms.

 

He gently lowered Yumichika’s legs back to the floor and placed a soft kiss by his ear, whispering soft but sincere words, words that came from the very bottom of his heart and were meant with every fibre of his being: “I’m sorry, I love you, Yumi. I’m sorry for ever doubting you.”

 

The tears in Yumichika’s eyes were almost as beautiful as his smile: “It’s okay, I forgive you, and I love you too.”

 

The kiss they shared was so heartfelt and emotional that Ikkaku was almost lost in it, his very soul seeping into it and merging with Yumi’s as they exposed their very hearts to one another through that one physical connection. They slipped lazily to the floor and basked in the afterglow, merely holding each other softly as they breathed heavily, trying to fight off sleep and find the strength to redress and rejoin their squad upstairs. Somehow nothing in the world seemed to matter that moment except each other, except holding each other, except that one perfect moment . . .

 

It was then they heard soft footsteps racing down the stairs into the admin room. Yumichika was the first to hear them and the first to panic, jumping up and immediately grabbing one of his paper documents – intended for Hitsugaya-Taichou – and began to wipe the come from his rear and front, whilst Ikkaku ran along the rows of bookcases and grabbed his clothes from the aisle. It seemed though that he wasn’t quick enough to grab them without being seen, because immediately he turned his head and saw at the very end of the aisle their intruder. He screamed loudly as he realised he’d been caught naked and ducked back in between the two bookcases, ignoring Yumichika’s almost hysterical laughter as he hastily redressed. Zaraki-Taichou was going to kill them; he was going to freaking kill them!

 

“Baldy!” Came the overly, sweet voice of Lieutenant Kusajishi, which immediately shut Yumichika up much to Ikkaku’s amusement, “How come you’re not dressed?”

 

Ikkaku hastily tied his obi around his hakama as he ducked back into the aisle to find his other items of clothing, his face was bright red and he was already planning his funeral mentally, wondering how Yumichika could not only dress so quickly but look so damned good and graceful doing it too. When he looked down the aisle to Yachiru she was simply standing there with her Zanpakuto trailing behind her, her face turned to one side as she kicked the floor lazily with her left foot, watching Ikkaku as he pulled on his footwear.

 

“Shit, Zaraki-Taichou is going to kill me!”

 

“Why?” Yachiru asked naively, “I’ve seen Kenny naked lots of times, children aren’t allowed in the hot baths without parents after all!” She smiled broadly and then her face gave a very confused, criss-crossed expression, “Toshiro-kun refuses to go to the baths, but sometimes he does and he hates it because he has to go with Chesty and it makes him go red. There aren’t any hot baths down here though, are there?”

 

“N–No, Kusajishi-Fukutaichou,” Ikkaku murmured nervously.

 

“So how come you were all naked?” She asked softly, “Is it something to do with your sparring with Feathers? You guys were so loud that we could hear you from the barracks! Ken-chan looked pretty mad, so I came down here to tell you off! Your sparring looks weird though . . . I don’t get it.” She looked up at the ceiling whilst shaking her head to and fro, “I know! I’ll ask Kenny! Ken-chan will tell me!”

 

“Kusajishi-Fukutaichou! W-wait!”

 

He was still struggling to pull on his kosode when the lieutenant had already sprinted out of the admin room to go ask the captain, her father, and Ikkaku knew right away he was doomed. Yachiru might be the lieutenant of Squad Eleven but she was still a child and still pretty innocent, if she were old enough to know what was happening she could have blackmailed him for at least a year afterwards, as it was her simple questioning curiosity were about to get him killed. Zaraki would beyond pissed they’d subjected her to something like that and he had no idea how the captain would explain it, and that was probably the reason he was going to die . . .

 

“Zaraki-Taichou will kill me,” Ikkaku moaned in a way that certainly _wasn’t_ manly.

 

“Nonsense!”

 

Yumichika appeared from behind the bookcases, humming loudly with his eyes closed and a brilliant ‘I just got some’ smile plastered all over his face, his whole body glowing as he pranced about as if in a world of his own. He was fully dressed now and his hair was perfect too, almost as if he’d been hiding a comb somewhere inside his uniform for such an occasion. When Ikkaku gave him a look of complete devastation he just laughed and raised his sleeved hand to his mouth, covering his open mouth to remain ‘beautiful’ as he laughed openly.

 

“He might beat you bloody but he certainly won’t kill you,” Yumichika said softly. The words made him sag his shoulders in relief and thank the gods that there was some small mercy, as he watched Yumichika saunter off, “No, no! If anything will kill you it will be the humiliation when Kusajishi-Fukutaichou spreads this around the whole of Squad Eleven! Zaraki-Taichou is a smart man, even he knows some punishments are more effective than death.”

 

Ikkaku groaned.

 

Yumichika was probably right but he wasn’t sure which he preferred, violent death by the hands of the captain or the whole of his squad knowing he’d just screwed Yumi’s brains out down in admin . . . No, he knew full well which he’d prefer, and that was sudden and violent death by the hands of Zaraki-Taichou, because let’s face it, like Yumi would let him screw him in public again from now on. No, death was definitely better, definitely . . .


	3. Chapter Two

## Chapter Two: Zaraki/Byakuya

 

Byakuya would readily admit that until recently he had led a simple life.

 

He remembered a time when he had been nothing but a hotheaded youth, chasing Yoruichi across the Seireitei as he desperately tried to excel his rival at shunpo. He remembered a time when his biggest concerns were his inability to control his emotions, and how his grandfather would spend days at a time teaching him the art of meditation. He even remembered the day he had became captain. It had been during the same time as Ichimaru Gin’s promotion and he remembered a feeling of relief, knowing that he wasn’t the only one who would be starting a new position full of such responsibility, knowing that there was someone in the same boat as him who he could potentially turn to.

 

Little did he know how easy it would be to run Squad Six, how he would be forced into a monotonous lifestyle where he would miss the days of Yoruichi-san stealing his hair-ties, or where he would grow to depend on his pointless talks with San-Ban-Tai-Taichou to keep him sane. He would even grow to yearn for love outside the walls of the Kuchiki manor, a place where the people were real and so much more interesting, where he could ignore the confines of etiquette and rules and be himself.

 

Ah, it was all so simple. He was a man who had no real worries or concerns, a man who worked solely so that his house would prosper and his squad would succeed, a man who was told how to dress, act, talk and even write. He never had to think for himself, never had to worry about a thing, he never even had to understand the working minds of others for it seemed the world revolved around him. If disliked a scarf a new one was brought, if a maid annoyed him then she was fired and if he were hungry a feast would be brought before him. He had heard many people claim to be jealous of his life, longing for the material goods that he had and the status he owned, and he had heard many others that pitied him for his lack of freedom and sheltered existence. Byakuya however had not made up his mind upon the matter. It was after all easy to criticise but appreciation took effort. Despite the downsides of his lifestyle he was still a sight better off than many others, and for that he would not complain at all. In fact there was only one complaint he had:

 

 

It may have seemed odd to some people for him to find a complaint in Hisana, for after all she was – truly and honestly – the love of his life. He would never do anything to desecrate her memory or dishonour her in any way, she was a perfect being with a soul so pure she would surely be reincarnated as a beautiful lady, one with a life befitting someone of her kindness. To this day he could remember his exact feelings he felt when they had first met. First he felt his mouth open and his eyes widen, a sense of shock upon seeing her beauty and fine features, then he had felt his lips go dry, his heart race and his mouth feel full, and finally he felt the emotional rush one feels when witnessing something so pure, angelic and godlike that it cannot possibly be real. Was it love at first sight? Yes. Was it a never-ending, undying love? No.

 

Truthfully, had she had a full lifetime, he wasn’t sure their relationship would have been able to sustain itself. He loved her so much that to this day, nearly fifty years later, his heart bled for her in memory and cried to be by her side, but rationally he knew that his feelings were perhaps no more than an unrequited, one-sided crush. They were at first so deep and powerful that it was easy to confuse them with love, for it was true he’d never loved before to know the difference, and it was also true that his opinion of her was as something godlike, perfect and angelic, an image that no living person could ever live up to. She was someone he had idealised to such an extent that he never truly knew her, he only the perfect image he wished her to be, even intentionally becoming blind to all her faults and disobeying his family to be with her. He also knew – as she even admitted – that she did not love him as a wife should, only as a friend and nothing more. The confession had never broken his heart, it had only made his resolve to change her mind all the stronger, as if his own undying love could convert her heart.

 

Perhaps they had both been foolish . . . He had a childhood crush upon her based on sentimentalised ideals and values, treasuring her as one would a painting without truly knowing the subject on which it was based, he had mistaken a youthful feeling of adoration with the serious, adult emotion of affection. She in turn had abandoned her sister to be with him, thinking that money and wealth could buy her happiness, and that her deep affection with Byakuya could over time grow from platonic into a real love. It had never occurred to her that one cannot force their heart to love, one must feel it from the start somewhere deep from inside themselves, or water the seed so that it grows over time. She loved him as a brother, a friend, and a confidante – never as a lover. They were simply not meant to be.

 

Over time – should she have lived – they would probably have grown distant, ‘divorced’ inside their own home as she raised children in a loveless marriage and he had his secret affairs, both loving each other as friends but resenting the other for holding them back. It would not have worked out. They were young, innocent, naïve and most of all they were not right for one another. How could they be?

 

Yet he couldn’t help but still love her! His heart yearned for her sweet smile, her gentle touch, her softly whispered words, he would smile in memory of her naked skin under his fingertips or the way she would shudder in pleasure, and he would cry in memory of the times in which she’d whisper ‘I love you’ or how they’d walk hand in hand under the sakura trees. He loved her kindness and strength, her determination to make amends for her wrongs, her trying every moment of every day to love him and to be the wife his family wanted her to be. He loved her! Did it matter whether it was a crush, a friendship or even a brotherly affection, did that matter when he felt such a deep need for her that transcended life and death, did it matter what type of love it was when it was simply love? It was that love which stopped him from hating her, stopped him from loathing her, even when he knew that this was all their fault, the both of them, together . . .

 

Had she not died he would never have adopted Rukia, she would never have met Ichigo, the Hogyoku would have never have left Urahara’s hands and entered Aizen’s, and the war would never have begun. He would still have his friend Gin to idly talk to, he would not have to worry about which suicidal-psychotic soul would try to replace one of the vacant captain seats next, and Aizen would not be currently trying to destroy all they held dear . . . and most of all he would not have some rude, insolent, redheaded youth insulting him by forgetting to address him correctly. All in all, if she had not died, if they had not even met, then the Seireitei would not be in chaos and there would not be so much pain and suffering.

 

Perhaps it was wrong to place such a heavy blame on Hisana, but he could not help it, he couldn’t help but blame himself for the events unfolding the way they had or for doing the things he had done. Even if he had still adopted Rukia then he should have allowed her to become a seated officer, at least then she would have never have gone to Karakura and none of this would have happened, he had a choice even then to stop this and he had chosen wrongly. No, the blame then wasn’t upon Hisana but on him, he was the one who had made the mistakes and he was the one who needed to suffer. He was the one who must suffer.

 

Then again would Hisana want him to suffer? Would she resent him if he did or be hurt by his own hurting? Or would she be angry with him, furious he could allow such harm to befall Rukia and himself, disgusted with the man he had become? If he allowed himself to shed a tear would he betray his family and their code of honour, if he allowed himself to feel pain would he betray Hisana and all she died for? How was he supposed to feel? What was he supposed to do? His whole life he had been taught to hide his feelings, to be in control of all he felt, and now he felt like he was slipping and could not find his pace. He felt like he was losing all the control he once had, and he wasn’t sure how to pull himself up again, not when his whole world would not stop spinning, not when he wasn’t sure whether he should hate himself or merely the world around him that had forced this burden upon him. Five years he had been with her, five years! Now what? Now what was he? Was he merely a captain again, merely a boy again? What he wouldn’t give for those carefree days, those days when life was so simple. What he wouldn’t give for that freedom he once had, that he never realised he had, and what he wouldn’t give to know if he’d ever have it back, if even for one tiny moment . . .

 

He drew in a heavy breath and tried to get control over his emotions.

 

He could not cry, he would not cry. He was Kuchiki Byakuya, head of his family and older brother to Kuchiki Rukia, it was his duty to be a leader of his family and a role model to his men, and to do that he had to be strong, powerful, in charge. It didn’t matter that inside his chest his heart felt like a heavy weight, something that held him down and choked the very breath from him, nor did it matter that he could help feel the heated tears in his eyes as his very soul felt trapped, tortured and torn. The pain was something to be endured, something accepted and put up with, for to give into it was weak, pathetic and a shame to his entire house. He could not give in. He would not. If he must cry he would do so silently during his bathing hours, where the water would wash the salty tears away, where there would be no proof of such a weakness save for the shameful memory in his mind.

 

He swallowed hard and carefully put his brush down against the paper.

 

To give into emotions was weak, he had no choice but to distract himself and channel his feelings into something productive, and in this case that was his calligraphy. It was a hobby he had grown to both love and hate, it allowed him that self-expression so often denied to him and the freedom he so craved, the control of being able to write as he wished and express himself as he wished, a helpful coping tool. Yet he also hated it, hated it for being the ‘perfect hobby of a nobleman’, hated it for being that same subject the traitor Aizen enjoyed, and hated it for always managing to convey the emotions to the world he longed to stay hidden. 

 

In that instant he could see the imperfection of his work. He could see the slight shake to the first stroke, and how the third was slightly out of alignment, and the way the whole kanji seemed slightly too large made him wince. To anyone else it surely would have looked perfect, but to Byakuya he could see the inconsistencies and mistakes, and it made him sick. Whilst it felt good to express his pain on paper, to show the world what he was not allowed to, he could not help but feel he had dishonoured himself and his clan by achieving something less than perfection. It felt as if the very act of this mediocre piece of calligraphy had ruined everything he stood for, as if its very existence undermined his entire being. Why he carried on was beside him, he should have stopped the moment he saw his shoddy handy-work, and yet the fluid movements of his wrist as he allowed his soul to be poured into his work was too much to hold back, forcing him to carry on. He couldn’t stop even if he so wished to. It was beyond his control now.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he became lost in his task of writing, fighting away tears as he sat elegantly and poised within his private study of the Kuchiki Manor, but it seemed at least an hour or so had passed. He had retired to his study once dinner was completed, he had prayed to Hisana and had bathed and cleansed himself of the day’s troubles – currently he sat in a casual, white yukata ready to retire to bed when need be. His night was merely to be a simple ritual in which he would finish his calligraphy, sign his remaining reports, then retire to sleep, but – as he had said so often – his life was no longer simple . . .

 

His thoughts and feelings were cut off dead when his door was flung wide open, allowing a cool breeze to blow through and rattle his papers and blow at his loose locks of hair.

 

It was not unusual for people to ‘barge in’ as such. Recently Yachiru-chan had broken into many of his rooms and played havoc with ‘secret tunnels’, all of which he’d managed to destroy and close off, save for the one to the Female Shinigami Association Headquarters, but that was only because he knew exactly where that room was and he knew if he’d destroyed it then Yachiru would only move it some place else. It was also known for Ichigo Kurosaki to barge in on occasion, destroying what little respect he had for the boy dead, making him come to loathe the disrespect that the boy showed, and hope to all that was holy Rukia would never come to date him. Yet these were really the only two people who dared disturb his peace, except for perhaps Yoruichi. So to see _that_ man standing there was not only confusing, unacceptable and an insult, but down right infuriating also.

 

After all, what right had Zaraki Kenpachi to break into his house and his room?

 

It was not only an incredibly odd occurrence, but it was made even more incredible by the very expression and look that Zaraki seemed to wear. Byakuya – although loathe to admit it – would not deny the other captain had a certain . . . _rugged_ good look, one that made someone who was inclined that way at once moisten or harden at the sight. He was tall, powerful, scarred, muscled and generally everything one expected from a masculine, manly man, one whom made you feel both submissive and weak, wondering what it would feel to be underneath such a strong body. Not that Byakuya ever felt that way of course. Good heavens no, Zaraki was a commoner and a low-life, street brawler, nothing more. There was no way Byakuya would ever consider him in such a sexual manner, but regardless he would not deny his certain appeal.

 

At the moment said man was standing in his doorway with a look of confusion plastered upon his features, it was always odd to see Zaraki perplexed for the man was so uncaring his usual concerns were solely on the pleasure of fighting, he simply did not allow himself to ponder deep matters in order to become confused. He was also wearing his hair long and down, it seemed almost silky and light, complimenting him in a way that ridiculous spiked hairstyle did not, and the unusual sight of this man with hair natural and flowing spiked Byakuya’s interest. However it was hard not to find the utmost offence at someone demanding entrance to his room, without knocking, who was also a commoner no less! What right had this man – attractive or not – have to interrupt a private moment?

 

“May I help you?” He asked coldly.

 

Kenpachi didn’t respond at first, in fact it was as if he hadn’t even heard the question itself, instead he merely leant forward and forced his head into the room, looking around with a mixture of bafflement and awe. The awe Byakuya could understand, after all such fine and expensive furnishings and large spaces must surely be foreign to a man like Zaraki, but at the same time his look of confusion was not entirely understood by him. Perhaps his confused state was a result of his being in a new, unexpected environment? If that was the case then Zaraki was not the man he had thought him to be.

 

“Yo,” Kenpachi grunted, jerking his head upwards, “You seen Yachiru?”

 

“Indeed I have not.”

 

“Huh, shame.”

 

Byakuya gave him a cold look before returning to his calligraphy. Whilst it was true he felt some form of primal attraction to Zaraki, as well as an interest in his sudden arrival and odd appearance, it was not enough to make him lower his guard or abandon his self-respect and talk to a commoner. Zaraki was beneath him, a man with little to no intellect who loved the thrill of a fight and nothing more, there was no way he’d ever understand Byakuya’s complex emotions or desire to be left to his hobbies in peace. There was also no way he’d ever learn manners or respect.

 

It was as he told Renji, no matter how hard you reach for the moon you shall never obtain it; you may only sink in the pool as you try to own a reflection, regretting chasing fantasies when you could have lived for reality. Perhaps Zaraki didn’t want the things that Renji did, perhaps he did not want to be a noble or even to defeat one, but the fact remains he was not – nor would he ever be – an equal to a Kuchiki, and for that he would forever be no more than an untrained animal to Byakuya’s humanity.

 

He lowered his brush and began to paint a new word upon his parchment, continuing his task as if no one were around him, refusing to even make eye contact with the man in his domain: “I am, however, inclined to ask why you would think your daughter to be in the manor of a noble family? Particularly without your knowledge.”

 

“Huh, like you don’t know.”

 

Kenpachi huffed loudly and stepped inside the room, closing the door forcefully shut behind him. The very action caused Byakuya at once to bristle, he could feel his entire body tense as if preparing for battle and his awareness had suddenly increased tenfold. His skin felt electrified, his senses heightened, and his grip upon the calligraphy brush was so tight his fingers felt bruised. It was not that he distrusted his fellow captain as such, but it was human instinct to feel wary in such a situation. He was after all naked save for his white, evening yukata and kneeling on floor whereas Zaraki stood tall above him, still fully clothed in his uniform. It was impossible to feel anything but vulnerable, especially when the door was now closed making escape or calling for his guards difficult, not that he needed to flee or call for help of course, but the fact remained he now felt caged and it was a feeling he greatly disliked.

 

He watched lazily from the corner of his eye as Zaraki collapsed upon the floor beside him, legs crossed and arms lazily hanging upon his knees, and if that wasn’t common enough he was even hunching his back as if he hadn’t a care in the world. The very fact he could sit next to Byakuya as an equal, that he could act so casually and relaxed as if he were not sitting with a superior, was very offensive.

 

There was a part of him that treasured someone ignoring the rules, the stifling etiquette and formal hierarchy, a part of him that relished someone fresh and real in his life, able to treat him not only as an equal but as a mere man. He loved the thought that there was someone in the whole of Seireitei whom he could be honest with, that his airs did not affect and his attitude did not bother, but at the same time it was something he also hated. He hated how Zaraki threw his whole perception of the world upside down, how he made him doubt his own class and status and crave someone with whom he could be an equal, he hated how no matter how hard he tried he could not force the man’s respect.

 

Perhaps that was the thrill? Perhaps the rush and love came from having someone whom he could not control, someone who was free and enjoyed his company solely for who he was and not what he was, even when Zaraki antagonised him and fought with him it was always because he saw Byakuya as an equal, as someone who was not above the law but a part of it. No one ever saw Byakuya that way. Rukia idolised him and treated him as a god, Renji held him as a standard of perfection and a rival who must be overcome, even the other captains bowed at his requests and acquiesced at his demands, and although Ichigo Kurosaki forgot his honorifics even he treated Byakuya with nothing but respect. Was it possible this was why he had not yet turned Zaraki away? Did he crave for someone to let down his guard with, who would not mock him for shedding tears or chastise him for showing emotion? Was it possible he craved for the company of – dare he say it? – an equal?

 

Drawing in a deep but silent breath he continued to write, almost holding his breath after a few moments to force his emotions at bay. There were still tears threatening to spill, cheeks that threatened to rouge and a heart that threatened to ache, it was only by meditating silently and breathing deeply he could keep his persona solid. He would not break, or at least not in front of a man like Kenpachi, even if it was something he craved he knew he could not. He was like an eagle and Zaraki like a snake, and one should never show weakness to those lower on the food chain.

 

“I shall ask you one more time,” He said calmly, “What is it that makes you believe your daughter and lieutenant to be within the residence of my manor?”

 

Zaraki shrugged as he lazily traced his eye down the long piece of parchment. He was sitting merely a few feet away from Byakuya and there was a heady scent of sweat and exertion from the man, one that wasn’t necessarily unpleasant but uniquely belonging to Zaraki, something that Byakuya had never smelled before. It was possibly this luring aroma was merely due to their close contact, but something told Byakuya it was from perhaps forgoing a needed bath. That thought should have disgusted him but as he realised, the smell was not a bad one, in fact it reminded him slightly of both battles and sex, something powerful and unforgettable.

 

“What’s it to you anyway? I’m here, aren’t I? If you wanted me gone that badly you’d have kicked me out long before now. You know that and I know that, so don’t act all snotty with me when you know damned well you couldn’t care less.” Zaraki said the words so casually and with such a tone of wisdom that Byakuya could not bring himself to feel angry, after all his words held a thread of honesty and he could not deny what he had said. “If you must know, Kuchiki, little Yachiru has a meeting with the female Shinigami or whatever they call themselves, when I asked around the other captains told me the meeting room was somewhere in your manor. Odd really, didn’t see you as the sharing type.”

 

“Indeed I am not, but each time I seal off that particular room your lieutenant rebuilds elsewhere. I have since learnt that it is best to allow them access to that room, in return they will cease to make modifications to my manor, and I have back that privacy I once lost. If you would like I will lead your momentarily to the meeting room.”

 

“Nah, forget it. Let Yachiru have her fun, it’s too late now anyway.”

 

“Too late for what, may I ask?”

 

Zaraki gave a toothy grin and grunted noisily. It was something that mildly piqued Byakuya’s interest and cause him to turn his head slightly, his eyes lifting for a brief second behind thick, black lashes to look upon his new companion.

 

He felt a pang of curiosity and longing when he saw that face before him, something he did not understand nor like, a feeling as if he was in the company of a man most mysterious and interesting, but one whom was safe and capable of protecting him against harm. The very expression Zaraki wore was one of ‘still waters run deep’, a subtle smile that suggested a heavy thought behind it, one of which could run for pages for its detail and depth, something which was more than the bloodlust one came to expect from him. He could see the way that brown eye shimmered and glowed, seemingly looking at the paper but actually observing Byakuya, and he could see the way the scars pulled and tensed with each unseen facial movement. His face was alive, writhing with motives, desires and a history unlike any other, and his little grunt which accompanied it made it seem like any words to follow would be little more than smoke for a magical act, something to distract him from any real issue.

 

“Ask all you like, Kuchiki,” He said with a slight laugh to his voice, “If you must know that bastard Komamura overheard how Sasakibe recommended a god awful hair treatment to me, so he decided to recommend one of his own, you know? I tried it out and look at it! It’s worse that what that bastard lieutenant suggested, it’ll take days to get back to normal, if not weeks! Last time I trust a dog with a man’s issue.”

 

“This relates to Yachiru and ‘being late’ how?”

 

“Well I got the treatment done after tonight’s drinking party, supposed to have been having some words with my third and fifth seat but they never showed up, seeing the sort of questions Yachiru’s been asking me I can guess why,” He glared harshly at this, to which Byakuya knew better to question, “By the time I got it done it was time for my bath, with a body like mine I have to bathe daily, but I got to get Yachiru in the baths too ready for bed. I can’t start my nightly routine until I finish hers, she might be strong after all but she’s still a little girl, got to get her sleep. I wanted a bath really badly too, try and fix this flipping mess that’s my hair, but it’s too late now, it’s got to be nearly midnight. Silly girl.”

 

Something warmed in Byakuya about Zaraki’s concern for his adoptive daughter and lieutenant, although he’d known the man had a strong affection for the girl he’d have never have guessed he’d have shown true paternal feelings. Here was the strongest captain in the Seireitei, feared by men and women alike for his tremendous power and bloodlust, and yet he worried about a little girl’s nightly routine and found it his duty to make sure she bathe and sleep properly. It was . . . sweet, which was probably why Zaraki was glaring at him as if to say ‘tell anyone and die’, but it was something that truly and really warmed Byakuya’s heart.

 

Hisana had wanted nothing more than a child, and when it was found that she couldn’t she spent her last few years looking for Rukia, and it was Rukia who Byakuya later came to adopt into his family. It was as if children – even Yachiru – came to represent everything Hisana had wanted, the childhood she had never had, the image of everything pure and kind he had came to see in her. Not only that but his whole life he’d spent alone, there had been his grandfather of course but their relationship was more of master and pupil, and his relationship with his sister seemed to be one of hero and hero-worshipper. There had never been anyone in his life that was his equal, his friend, someone he could worry about and who would worry about him in return, and he longed for that unconditional love and friendship such a person brought with them.

 

He envied Zaraki, he truly did, but yet he could not understand why the man found it necessary to linger in his room with him? Confess this parental nature and instinct that was surely secret within him? Why did he suddenly see Byakuya as a confidante?

 

Whilst he was deep in thought Zaraki spoke up: “Hey, what you’re writing, it’s a Japanese love poem, isn’t it? Eighteenth century or some crap like that, I’m sure of it, something about how freedom isn’t moving around like we want, or even choosing to take in a new breath, but wanting to get it on with someone and knowing that even if you can’t that they want it, you want it, and society can’t stop you wanting to fuck their brains out.”

 

Byakuya cringed noticeably. “That is the general – if not _ineloquent_ – gist of it, yes.”

 

If he were to put the poem more eloquently it would be this: man’s freedom is but an illusion, an illusion where even our rights to movement are not our rights but privileges, where our paths are chosen in many ways by others, indeed even the breaths we take or the stars we count are but products of society, rules and allowances. The true freedom lies within the mind, not the physical body, and what symbolises the mind more than anything is love. No matter how our families, friends, governments or societies try to constrain us they cannot force us to love against our wills, we give our hearts freely, and so even if we cannot be with the one we love our heart is always free to give away, and so we are with them in spirit.

 

It was one of Byakuya’s favourite poems, symbolising his very love for Hisana, a forbidden love in which everyone forbade and denied, and yet his heart yearned for her and his feelings could not be quelled. Even when death forced them apart his heart beat on, beating for her, living for her, calling out to her in the night when no other soul would do, when no other being could call forth his love and devotion. To hear it all put forth so bluntly by Zaraki should have angered him, enraged him, and yet all he could do was coldly accept such a simplistic outlook as a part of what made Zaraki unique, in the same way that holding the pain of the past was a trait unique to Hisana. It was strange to think of the two in the same thought, the same breath, and yet somehow he could not help but relate the poem to Zaraki also, for not matter how much his heart may find a . . . _curious_ interest in Zaraki he could not act upon it, for such a common man could in no way be a friend to a nobleman such as himself. His heart was indeed free to ponder such a relationship, but it could not be, for not one other part of him had a claim to such freedom, and eventually any love they may have – platonic or romantic – would die just like the sakura blossoms, the light of day or the glow of Hisana’s beauty . . .  

 

It was hard to describe and yet something called him to question the tone of Zaraki’s voice and his knowledge of the poem, wondering how not only he could understand the kanji but also the nature of the poem, and where he could possibly have encountered such a text. He should not have cared, he should have been above such idle curiosity, and yet something about Zaraki made him genuinely interested. This was a man in love only with the sight of blood, a man of a poor background in the worst area of the Rukongai, a man with no appreciation of the arts, and yet he recognised the poem almost immediately – how?

 

Byakuya could not help but wonder if he had become insanely lonely to seriously find an interest in this man, and yet his heart still throbbed in pain, ached in that caged solitude he had enforced upon it, but somehow Zaraki’s brutal honesty, indifferent nature to social status, and casual nature soothed that ache somewhat. It made him feel almost as if someone out there not only understood him on a basic human level but also truly had an interest with him, for Zaraki was a man so different, so completely opposite to him, and yet he always treated him as an equal. It was hard to accept but Zaraki was different enough that he was an enigma, something unique and special that Byakuya was loath to admit he wanted to understand, come to know, and yet he should not have felt that way. He should not have felt his loneliness subside with the possibility of unravelling the mystery that was Zaraki; he should not have felt himself safe in an enclosed room with a man who considered himself his equal, proving this by challenging him on multiple occasions to fights. He should have felt tense, angry, offended, disgusted, repulsed or perhaps even frightened; he should not have felt relieved. He should not.

 

Drawing in a shuddering breath he tried to hold back the hurt and conflict from appearing in his features, his heart felt heavy and plagued with afflictions, grieving the loss of his wife and feeling the guilt and horror that he could feel a possible love for another, wondering if she’d ever be able to forgive him for that betrayal. She may after all have not loved him, but hadn’t he claimed to have loved her? Yet he felt such loneliness and pain, he needed to share his burden, and he could not hold such emotions in any longer, his mask was crumbling and soon tears would need to be shed else the dam would burst. He could not go on like this, but he must. His clan depended upon him to be strong, to be controlled and collected, he could not let his guard down, but what would happen if he didn’t?

 

He eventually broke the silence with a simple question: “How does a man like you know of this poem?”

 

Zaraki scoffed noisily and threw his head back, his now silky locks throwing themselves over his shoulder as he did so. The look was flawless and almost attractive, drawing Byakuya’s eye to that raven hair and making him wonder within his mind what it could feel like through his fingers, but then the thought of Hisana, Rukia, his clan, his squad, his reputation . . . it all came flooding back, making him regret his desire. It did not matter that Zaraki held a handsome expression, that his solid figure made him look dependable and secure, that one wished to be held in his arms and lost within his overwhelming reiatsu, all that mattered is these feelings were forbidden. He could not feel this way. He could not . . .

 

“Huh, where’d you think?” Zaraki spat, “I bet for a man like you it’s nothing but pretty words with some sort of romantic notion, but for men like me it’s more than that. Back in the Zaraki District they used to use that poem as a eulogy to the dead, well at least those of us who had enough humanity in us to read and bother burying those suckers. None of us had any freedom, not one fucking ounce of it, so all we could do was follow our hearts whenever we could and just be happy that you noble lot couldn’t take that away from us. You might have our money, dignity and even our rights, but we can still feel what the fuck we want. My love was the thrill of the fight, and I chased that thrill into the Seireitei itself. What does a man like _you_ know about undying passion? I bet to you it’s all meaningless, makes me sick too, saying hollow words parrot fashion makes them no more than a lie. To me they have meaning.”

 

It was then something inside Byakuya broke.

 

It was not the insult, not the accusation that he could not understand such words, not even his misconception of Zaraki, pinning him as a brute of a man with no soul, it was the feeling of such overwhelming depression held back by a mask of indifference, then to feel the cold hands of that man ripping his mask away. He wasn’t sure how Zaraki managed it, what in his words or tone made Byakuya doubt himself, hate himself, loathe his life, but somehow he’d succeeded in doing just that for now Byakuya could feel nothing but pain, and overwhelming pain at that.

 

Was Zaraki right? Did he not have a soul? Could he truly not bring himself to shed a tear even now about Hisana’s passing, his loss of good friends and family, and the war that threatened the lives of so many? Could he really keep such an impassive face and hold back even the faintest of scowls, grimaces or laughs? Was he truly such an unfeeling man? He was like Zaraki, he had a heart that longed for things desperately needed and wanted, a heart which craved – not the thrill of a fight – but the warmth of another, and even now he wanted nothing more than to be held and to hold back, to have someone reassure him and comfort him, to tell him all would be well. Yet he was alone. No one would hold him, hug him, soothe him, no one would ever listen to his complaints even if he dared to voice them, no one would laugh at his jokes for they felt too distant from him to want to, no one could ever understand him, need him, want him. He was for all intents and purposes alone. Alone with no one to love him or desire him, alone even back then when his grandfather saw him as nothing but a pupil, Yoruichi as nothing but a rival, Hisana and nothing but a friend. He was alone and that would not change, it could not. He craved for more, longed for more and yet he could not even so much as express that, he didn’t even know how. It hurt and yet he could not fix it, could not mend it, it hurt and it would keep on hurting as it had always done, and because of that these words before him were hollow. The poem was a lie. His heart would long but it would never be free, he was born in chains and his heart had yet to shed them. He could never be free. He could never be loved.

 

Byakuya could not stop it even if he tried, but he could control it to a degree, he could lessen the edge and maintain that control he needed to keep, that he must keep. He could not give in fully to his emotions as it would be weak, a shame, a disgrace to all his clan stood for, and yet what did it matter? That one sole tear that shimmered down his cheek told it all. That one tear meant a loss of complete control.

 

“Are you crying, Kuchiki?”

 

Zaraki had noticed. He was not surprised, he could feel that silver drop of liquid rolling down his cheek and staining the kanji for ‘love’ that lay on his paper, allowing the black ink to swell into a large spot that would forever mark and tarnish what ‘love’ meant. He felt the humiliation at being caught in such a weak moment consume him, he could feel that red hot anguish at being seen in such a state, a state no other had seen in him in save his late wife, and to know his image was now forever soiled in Zaraki’s eyes made him feel physically sick. He was forced to lower his brush and breathe deeply; hoping to all that was holy the painful fate of mockery would be over soon, for after all how would Zaraki ever understand this? Even if he could why would he care? He was alone, and Zaraki would not offer him – for the first time in his life – the hand of another to guide him through this, for Zaraki was not that type of man.

 

“Forgive me,” Byakuya all but whispered, “It seems I do not have such mastery over my emotions as I would wish to believe. I apologise sincerely to you, Zaraki-Taichou, for putting you in such an awkward situation.”

 

“Forget it. Just tell me,” Zaraki quirked up an eyebrow and glanced to Byakuya, a look without menace or judgment, simply a look of consideration and – unexpectedly – empathy, “What is it that can make the great Kuchiki Byakuya cry?”

 

“His heart.”

 

At this mortifying confession he lowered his head and prayed for his ancestors to forgive his weakness, his very being felt swallowed by his devastating embarrassment, hoping that to all holy beings Zaraki would forgive this outburst. He’d expected many things to occur. He’d expected condescending laughter, he’d expected Zaraki to get up and leave in disgust, and he’d even expected the man to shrug it off and continue his search for Yachiru. What he did not expect however was to feel large, strong arms wrapping around him, arms that he had not seen move, especially move in such a manner that was unheard of for their owner. He could barely believe it, and yet it was true: Zaraki was holding him.

 

There was nothing in the gesture. There was no lust, no love, no pity, merely one man moving around the parchment to sit beside another man in pain, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as if this was nothing more than congratulating him at a wedding, or consoling him at a funeral. Zaraki was even looking into the distance, and only one arm lay across Byakuya’s shoulders, and yet to Byakuya it was the kindest, grandest, and most loving gesture he had ever received. No one, and he meant no one, had ever dared or dreamt of laying an arm around him in such a manner. It was an act of empathy rare to Zaraki, an act of consideration that showed his feelings counted for something, that his feelings were not the disgrace he knew them to be, that the feelings of his heart mattered to someone if just for a second. It was that sudden relief, the sudden feeling of compassion and understanding, that caused him to weep silently and lean into Zaraki.

 

He pressed his head against Zaraki’s chest to hide his own tears, to hide his sickeningly weak expression which conveyed his own pain, a pain that no one should ever see, and as he leant into that hardened chest he felt the older man physically jump, surprised and shocked at what had now occurred. The very feeling of Zaraki pulling away devastated him in a way words could not express, the relief he felt had now gone and was replaced with a feeling of oblivion, of humiliation which required death, for he had shown himself at his weakest to a being he believed he could trust, and now he was being rejected. He pulled away to regain composure but before he could that arm tightened around him, and another came up, also wrapping itself around him, so that now he was being held and essentially cuddled by Zaraki, the demon of Squad Eleven. He had no idea how this had occurred but he no longer cared, all he cared about was that now there was somebody who was holding him, comforting him, that he was not alone. He had the warmth of another to guide him. He had not been rejected.

 

“I got no choice but to hold you,” Zaraki mumbled, “It’s weird enough holding Yachiru when she’s upset, but to be holding Kuchiki Byakuya, the Ice Queen of the Seireitei is plain weird. Not that I mind at all, but just so you know, if you tell anyone about this I’ll castrate you in your sleep and shove the remains down your throat. Got that?”

 

Byakuya smiled slightly and felt a soft, short and quick laugh emit from his throat, one that shocked him completely; “I dare you to try it, peasant.”

 

“Cocky, little bitch, ain’t you?”

 

He surprised himself by ignoring the insult and allowing himself to nuzzle into Zaraki’s hold. His face was pressed against that muscular neck, breathing in the deep heady scent as he instinctively sought out more, and his hands had crept up to hold tight upon the eleventh captain’s haori, using it as an anchor for his overwhelming emotions. It was as if by holding onto his fellow captain, curling up beside him, that he could keep himself firmly routed in reality and remind himself that his emotions did not control him, it was as if Zaraki were a solid reminder of his own status and position, reminding him that he must regain his composure or lose face. Yet that was the strange thing, a part of him did not want to save face but merely sought to lose himself in Zaraki’s hold. He had never felt safe before in the arms of another, never felt able to trust another to this extent or even find someone wiling to hold him in such a manner, and yet here he was in Zaraki’s arms, allowing himself a brief moment of comfort and weakness.

 

It was an incredible feeling to experience such consideration, kindness and empathy, and the rush he felt from being an equal to someone and feeling secure enough to allow them to hold him was overwhelming. He could feel Zaraki’s hands holding firmly onto him, feel the other captain lower his head so that his chin rested upon Byakuya’s hair, and hear him breathe deeply as if absorbing his scent. Could it be that Zaraki was as lonely as he was? Could it be that he needed someone else also?

 

Byakuya couldn’t understand it but he knew he heart was aching, crying out for the touch and love of another, and here was Zaraki, offering him a small token of kindness, and perhaps open to offering him more. He felt an almost duty to repay this man, he had after all distracted him from his task and burdened him with his weight of emotions, and at the same time he felt humiliated and angry, frustrated that it had to be _this_ man to see him in this way. He wasn’t sure what he wanted or needed. Did he throw Zaraki out in order to regain control and save his dignity, or did he relax and continue to nuzzle into him for that desperately needed warmth and love? It was an impossible choice, but his instincts told him that he wanted – _needed –_ more. No one had ever shown him this compassion, no one had ever held him, no one had ever comforted him, and it was something that made his heart swell and his pain dissipate into a cooling tide that was beginning to ebb away. He still hurt but that pain was lessened, and he could not help but wonder if by increasing this closeness he could not perhaps make the pain go away entirely . . .

 

Was it foolish to think that physical closeness would help ease things? He surely owed Zaraki something for his display of thoughtfulness but the man did not want money, conversation or lessons and what else could Byakuya offer? He would not fight his fellow captain without reason, it was base to enter a physical altercation without provocation, and he needed to respond to Zaraki somehow, in a way that the man would appreciate. It wasn’t just that. He longed to be close to another, longed to feel their touch and hear their heartbeat, to know he was not alone and had someone with him to share in one simple moment, and even if that moment was fleeting, even if it was a meaningless, physical entanglement to the other party, it was still a moment where he could forget his loneliness and pretend he was loved and one with another. Just one distraction, just one moment where he could forget his solitude and enjoy a moment of pleasure, just to forget, to forget his duties, responsibilities and past regrets! Did it matter if Zaraki was a commoner? He would readily admit to feelings for the man, feelings he could never act on, but it was not as if Zaraki would ever find out, to him it would be no more than a one-night romance, a one-night fling. Byakuya was not the sort to demean himself to pleasuring others, particularly those beneath him, but he needed this . . . he needed to forget.  

 

Gently he raised his head and allowed his lips to brush against the sweat-stained, tanned skin of that column of neck, a movement so graceful and elegant it may have been nothing but an innocent accident, even if he could feel Zaraki shudder beneath him as his hot breath ghosted flesh. He soon proved his action to be more than accidental however when his soft, velvety lips pressed forcefully against him, soon parting ever so slightly to take in that tangy taste of perspiration.

 

He felt Zaraki shudder once more and so decided to press his advantage by sliding his body closer, pressing light kisses further up until he had reached the earlobe, at which point he began to blow lightly upon it before nibbling lightly, using his tongue to lick paths upon it. This act of foreplay caused Zaraki to grunt and jerk his body reflexively, giving Byakuya the perfect opportunity to lift his body and crawl onto his fellow captain’s lap. It was a brave and bold movement, but Byakuya was a man who took what he wanted and did not believe in beating around the bush, so instead he trailed his kisses down that strong, prominent jawbone and lightly bit and sucked at indeterminable points ever so often.

 

He could not yet feel an erection beneath him, but he was complexly virginal to acts between men and so it was hard to tell if this was normal or not, but he knew from experience that one thing could always arouse him: a kiss of passion. Byakuya himself could already feel his member hardening, so pleased with the warmth of strong arms around him and a hard chest inches from him, he felt so safe straddling Zaraki and so secure with on his lap, sitting upon his crotch. He enjoyed the feeling of being close to someone, it made him forget his loneliness and made him feel alive if only for a moment, and the fact he was naked save his yukata gave him a feeling of vulnerability that added to the rush. Yet he knew hat he was doing was wrong, for if it was right then he would be able to look Zaraki in the eye, but instead his shame and humiliation prevented him from doing so. He would enjoy the moment but he could not give fully into it, for after all a liaison with a commoner was strictly forbidden and whatever he felt for Zaraki he knew Zaraki did not love him, if this went further he would be allowing himself to be used and that went against all he stood for. Was he willing to go that far? Could he go that far?

 

He closed his eyes quickly so as to avoid looking at Zaraki too closely, and then pressed his lips abruptly against the eleventh captain. His lips were rough, chapped and dry, the lips of a true man who was always amongst the elements and not sheltered in a way Byakuya himself was, and yet the touch of those lips lit something deep within him, a fire that stirred in his loins and made his flesh hot to the touch. In a few short seconds he had parted his lips and stroked Zaraki’s with his tongue, licking lightly to ask permission for entrance, and right away Zaraki allowed invitation. At once they were locked in a slow, sensuous kiss, one without the desperate need of lust but one with something deep within it that sparked a feeling deep in Byakuya’s heart. It was lazy, like when one kisses their partner after awakening from a deep sleep, and yet it was full of love as Byakuya felt his body pulled tight against Zaraki’s. He could feel that had chest against his and the sudden pull made him gasp for air despite being lip-locked with another, and as his tongue worked and explored his new lover’s mouth he relished in the unique tastes he experienced, loving how rough the other’s tongue was or how sharp his teeth were.

 

Then suddenly a hand was gone from his back and came up to grip his chin, holding tightly to grab his attention and forced his head right back, breaking the kiss almost violently. It left Byakuya with no choice but to make that eye contact he so dreaded.

 

Zaraki’s tanned cheeks were flushed red, his eye dilated to the point it was nearly completely black, and his lips swollen from a rather enjoyable kiss, and as for the parts below . . . Byakuya’s yukata had been dishevelled enough that it hung low off his upper body, stopped only from falling by his arms, which were hooked now around Zaraki’s neck, and below his legs were displayed either side of Zaraki as the yukata had slid up, and through the flimsy material he could feel a heavy arousal. It was poking Byakuya along his perineum, making itself known only centimetres away from his virgin hole, and making it obvious Zaraki was interested in his unspoken proposal. So – with that being said – it was a mystery to Byakuya as to why the larger man would stop.

 

“Fuck, you need to stop this, Kuchiki.”

 

Byakuya gave a rather puzzled expression, his eyes burning from his previous tears; “Oh? May I ask why you seem to think we should cease this activity?”

 

“Because you were fucking crying just two seconds ago, that’s why,” Zaraki growled, sliding his hand along that porcelain skin of his lover and sliding his fingers into silky, smooth hair. He gave no warning when he suddenly yanked hard, forcing Byakuya to wince despite being determined not to, “If some bastard took advantage of Yachiru it wouldn’t even be legal for me to say what I’d do to him, and so I’m not going to take advantage of you either. Not many rules I have, but one of them is never do to someone what I would hate to happen to her.”

 

“That logic is flawed. You engage in casual sex, drink to excess and kill daily – you wish for her to engage in those activities too?”

 

Zaraki laughed loudly and pulled Byakuya down for a kiss, before parting with a panted breath, “Sure. If she dies in battle she dies with honour, if she drinks she’ll have lots of fun, and if she screws someone fully consenting then she’ll have the best time ever. Using someone when they know they’re being used isn’t really hurting them, because they’re just using you in return, but to screw someone who’s not aware of it is sick. If I screw you now, when you’re crying like some snot-nosed brat, then I’ll just be using you without your consent. I’d be no better than a scumbag rapist.”

 

Byakuya flinched at those words.

 

He could feel his heart swell somewhat that Zaraki had some compassion, sympathy and moral standing in which he would feel guilt in taking him, but at the same time it was as if he doubted Byakuya’s competence in deciding for himself, in reaching his own decisions. It was as if by deciding ‘Huh, you’re just too upset to decide’ he was taking away Byakuya’s freedom to choose, a freedom denied to him his entire life by his clan, duties and occupation. It just made him want to reassert himself, to prove that he wanted this, needed this, and he felt a sense of pain that Zaraki could think this would be anything other than consensual. There was only one thing that scared him however, and that was with Zaraki’s confession of doubt he felt a swell in his heart of . . . warmth, a feeling that enveloped him and made him feel secure and safe, like his own needs came first, and in return it made him feel a form of openness to the man before him. Was this a feeling of love or attraction, or merely a newfound admiration and respect? Regardless he needed Zaraki, he needed to feel needed in return, needed that distraction from his pain and to feel one with another person once again.

 

He gently trailed his hands away from Zaraki, tracing his muscled shoulders and arms as he went, his long and lithe fingers brushing against that solid muscle, hidden beneath his shihakusho. He could feel Zaraki’s eyes following his fingertips, watching him with a keen interest as he eventually moved his hands down to his own yukata sash, and with one swift movement pulled it away, dropping it carelessly on the floor beside them. He could see the larger captain swallow hard and feel him shift beneath him, and with a subtle smirk Byakuya slipped off his yukata and allowed it to fall behind him, leaving his body completely naked and exposed . . .

 

At once Zaraki began to ogle the body sitting upon his lap, with legs spread upon either side of him, and hands now back up and wrapped around his neck, leaving Byakuya in a completely vulnerable position. His long, black hair fell over his shoulders, sliding down over his high cheekbones, prominent jawbone and finally lying gracefully over his defined pectoral muscles and abdomen. His abs weren’t so well defined or muscular, but his stomach was flat and it was obvious he took care of himself, but the fact he hadn’t a masculine stomach just added to his lithe look, and his almost hourglass figure. It wasn’t quite a feminine appearance but it was a fragile one, a noble one, and a beautiful one. It made Zaraki’s mouth water, reminding him that this man was of a higher status than him but also easier to break, it made him want to take his time and be careful, give over control to the younger man lest he hurt him without intending to.

 

His slate grey eyes were so alluring too, looking upon Zaraki with an expression of need and desire but also conflict, as if he was unsure what to do now or even what he wanted, but their dilation and how they narrowed upon him showed him how much love and lust the man had hidden away. His skin was snow-white all over, obviously not prone to spending long hours outdoors which again marked him as a noble man, and his arms and legs were so elegant, slightly defined and yet slightly soft, his lips firm, soft and moist, begging to be kissed.

 

Yet the part of him Zaraki loved the most was that long, shapely cock nestled in a bed of thick, black curls. He adored the slight bend in it, the way it was so long it would surely hurt to be inside someone but at the same time too thin to cause any real pleasure, as if it was there merely to show off and never use, as if he was born to be the ‘catcher’ in any relationship. It was already so hard and aroused, its head bouncing lightly upon Byakuya’s stomach as if demanding attention, and a tiny speck of pre-come had already formed on its tip. To be so aroused after just one kiss, even if that person was naked, just wasn’t normal for a grown man who was getting laid on a regular basis, it was like Byakuya was sexually no more experienced than a teenager, getting hard at the first hint of sex. Had it been that long since the man had last gotten laid? Were the rumours true that he hadn’t been with anyone since his wife died all those years ago?

 

Zaraki licked his lips and moved his hands to take a grip on either side of Byakuya’s waist, feeling how thin and shaped the man was, how soft and smooth his skin was to the touch, and relishing how even that small stroke of his own rough fingertips on such an innocent place had the younger man gasping and blushing. He leant forward to capture the sixth captain’s lips, opening his mouth wide as if to consume Byakuya, kissing him so deeply and passionately he felt as if he was trying to devour the other man’s soul. He loved the way the noble’s head would tilt to allow him access, how his tongue would hesitantly explore Zaraki’s mouth only to be forced back by the more dominant man, and how he tasted so sweet like bananas but with a hint of spice. The kiss was hot, needy and desperate and soon Byakuya was forcing back little moans that caused Kenpachi to grow harder by the second, just knowing he was breaking the younger man, making him give into his carnal desires. After a minute he moved his hands downwards to clasp at Byakuya’s buttocks, holding them tight and squeezing them like a ripe peach, massaging them firmly so that his new lover would writhe and led out needy, high-pitched breaths as he tried not to cry out. The sounds were so addictive he’d never get tired of them, in fact his mouth watered with the arousing idea of what other sounds he could come to provoke from him.

 

Again he pulled back. He drew in a deep breath and licked his lips in an animalistic way, his eyes heavy and hooded, his teeth showing as his mouth pulled back into a ferocious smile, eyeing Byakuya like a predator with prey.

 

“Enough, Kuchiki,” He said, voice hoarse with lust, “Put on your yukata and walk away.”

 

Byakuya lifted his head to look down at his companion. Despite his emotional turmoil and raging arousal he was furious this man could tell him what to do in such a manner, that he could blatantly give him a command and expect him to follow it, like Byakuya was the dog and Zaraki the master. It made him even more determined to follow through with the act, to make this brute of a man realise just who was really in charge here. Sure, Byakuya was possibly weaker, he was grieving inside and about to be on the receiving end to their little game, but he was also of a higher status and because of that it was _his_ opinions that mattered and _his_ commands that were followed. He would not allow Zaraki to think himself better of a Kuchiki.

 

His heart was beating in a way he’d never experienced before, so fast he was sure it would burst, and yet it wasn’t the beating heart of arousal but of nervousness and fear, a nervousness he had not experienced since his first night with Hisana. It didn’t matter that he was determined to do what he was about to do, he still felt frightened inside in a way he did not wish to admit; frightened he would be unable to go through with it, frightened it would hurt, and most of all frightened he would feel like he was betraying his wife, Hisana . . .

 

His hands shook slightly as he lowered them down to Zaraki’s lap. He accidentally brushed against his own arousal in the process and caused himself to hiss loudly, bucking instinctively in pleasure, before fighting back his blushing body from reacting further. Byakuya reached his hands forward and placed a tentative touch to the bulge in Zaraki’s hakama, feeling for the first time the hardness of another, and curious at the slight wet stain that was growing where the tip of the member must have laid. It was strange to be so close to an area so intimate and private of another person, it was far from what he had experienced with Hisana, completely different in fact, and he was unsure if he was able to satisfy another being when he had found it incredibly difficult to satisfy his wife. After all, he was a virgin when they married and her anatomy was by far different to his, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever received any words of advice or heard how these things were to work, as far as he knew he’d not often caused her to orgasm (if at all), and he was scared that he would be equally as inadequate at this – especially after instigating it. Still, he would not back away now, and instead he pulled loose the sash of Zaraki’s uniform, and pulled down his hakama, his eyelids fluttering in shock as he realised the fundoshi most Shinigami wore was absent on this man, instead allowing his rigid member to spring out freely into the air.

 

The sight of the other man’s arousal caused a shiver of fear to race through Byakuya’s body, sending a course of adrenaline into his blood. The man was fairly largely endowed, definitely living up to rumours and his status as a ‘manly man’, he was not quite as long as Byakuya but certainly a lot thicker by far, making the noble wonder how he should ever fit such a member inside him without being torn in two. His length stood weeping slightly, red and in need of touching, and at the base stood two large balls which added to the look of a stallion or a demon. It was rather intimidating but he didn’t have long to ponder before his thoughts were interrupted.

 

“I’m warning you, Byakuya,” Zaraki said, ditching the honorifics and family name for a more intimate feel to their soon-to-be fuck session, “I don’t play nicely with my toys, sometimes they break.”

 

Refusing to show fear Byakuya scoffed at this. “What a coincidence, Zaraki-Taichou. I do not play nicely with my toys either.”

 

He had expected Zaraki to laugh at that, mock him or be amused by his display of arrogance and open challenge to the other, but instead he appeared somewhat stern and serious, observing him with narrow eyes and his smile now wiped from his face. It was as if he were truly worried for Byakuya, but the younger man knew this could not be the case, for Zaraki was the Demon of Squad Eleven, he did not feel sympathy or empathy for anyone. His look must surely have been of disbelief or indifference, nothing more or nothing less.

 

After a brief moment had passed Zaraki had lifted his hand to Byakuya’s mouth and let his fingers touch his lips, rough and calloused pads tracing over his soft skin. The command he issued was brief and succinct:

 

“Suck.”

 

It was the first time ever that Byakuya could remember obeying a command of a peer, and more importantly _wanting_ to obey it. He opened his mouth immediately and felt Zaraki slipping in his first two fingers, it was an odd and strange sensation, his mouth feeling full and tasting a bitter taste upon the other’s flesh. Instinct of course told him to bite down or pull away but of course he didn’t, instead he let his tongue lick up and down those to digits whilst Zaraki’s left hand kneaded his buttocks and made him moan despite his makeshift gag. He soon began to suck hard upon them, sometimes allowing his teeth to lightly scrape the flesh but mainly allowing his hollowing cheeks to eagerly consume them, almost as if mocking the act of a babe taking nourishment from a mother. It didn’t take long for Zaraki’s fingers to be thoroughly coated with saliva, or for Byakuya to start moaning like this was the act of oral sex itself, and not just a parody of it.

 

Zaraki soon smirked devilishly and removed his fingers quickly, leaving Byakuya panting and open-mouthed; his lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed crimson as a thin trail of saliva ran down his chin. It was a deeply erotic sight and one that made that dominate and desperate side of Zaraki take over, making him crave more and take what was owed him. With a fast, strong pull upon Byakuya’s buttocks he pulled the man upwards, so his weight rested entirely upon his lower legs and knees, and so his head was now higher than Zaraki’s. It caused him to look down at his would-be lover and press their chests tightly against one another, but it also meant that Byakuya’s arms were now fully encasing the older man, so that he was essentially holding him romantically and affectionately.

 

With Byakuya seeming relaxed and into the moment he decided to carry on that one step further. Whilst he kept his left hand below to hold up the other’s weight he allowed his right hand to trail downwards, the dry digits lightly stroking a line down his spine and causing him to shiver in delight, meanwhile he began to kiss softly on Byakuya’s neck, causing the man to finally give in and give a soft moan. Zaraki couldn’t help but smile at the sound, using his sharp teeth he’d nip and bite on that unblemished, untouched neck causing his lover to buck and groan, and then he’d swipe his tongue across, sucking and kissing, as if to make up with his harsh bites with generous kisses. He wanted to mark Byakuya. He wanted everyone to see love bites over his neck and know he’d been taken, to know that someone had finally claimed him as their own and that the man had finally gotten laid by a god.

 

His lover was clearly distracted by now, and so he parted the cheeks of his rear with his hand and allowed his fingers to ghost that untouched hole, trailing his wet fingertips over it so that he could feel it winking back at him. Then – slowly and gently – he pushed in his middle finger. He could feel Byakuya grunt harshly and so he began to administer harder, more passionate love-bites and kisses to his neck, distracting him as he slid his finger further in. It was an interesting feeling, by far different to what he’d felt when preparing his other lovers in the past, Byakuya was clenching so tightly he could feel a pulse – his own or Byakuya’s he wasn’t sure – and his lover was so tense it was hard to push inside him. He made sure to go slowly, to follow the natural contours of Byakuya’s body, and enjoy the feeling of each ridge of muscle pushing past him, but still he could feel his lover tensing, panting and worming around as if he was getting a prostate exam and not foreplay from a sex god. Zaraki was forced to roll his eyes and try not to give into the temptation and jamming his finger in hard, just to teach the prissy little prince a lesson.

 

“Fuck Byakuya, you’re too goddamn tight,” Zaraki growled, moving his finger rhythmically inside his lover to prepare him for more to come, “You need to relax, it won’t hurt then and I won’t have to tear you when I go in.”

 

He paused for a second and soon felt Byakuya relaxing; it made him smile and chuckle slightly to himself, then carried on thrusting inside with his finger. It seemed like the Ice Queen was melting a bit now, loosening up enough to get into the swing of things as he experimentally clenched down occasionally and shifted for deeper penetration, then after a few more seconds he’d start moaning and allowed his hands to run all over Zaraki’s clothed body. He seemed to be exploring every inch of skin he could reach, determined to feel every muscle even those beneath Zaraki’s kosode and haori, and his breath was coming out in short and harsh pants.

 

Zaraki smiled to himself and slid in another finger, it was hard to get in at first – what with the virgin entrance probably never being stretched before – but he managed, and amazingly enough Byakuya remembered to stay relaxed too, although he hissed slightly and dug his nails into his lover’s shoulders. He couldn’t believe how tight Byakuya was, and he could only hope it wouldn’t hurt himself or his lover to take him, but then again if a little pain was necessary for a truckload of pleasure then it had to be done. He slowly began to scissor his fingers as he thrust up and down, loving how Byakuya was beginning to writhe against him like a bitch in heat, and when he grazed that pleasure spot deep inside the reaction was amazing. His lover arched his back until it looked like it would break, threw back his head so that his long locks dangled behind him and exposed his throat, and then let out a heart wrenching moan of complete lust and desire. In those few moments he looked like sex personified, and the small sheen of sweat that marked his skin made him look completely in need of being ravished. It was obvious to Zaraki he wouldn’t be able to wait much longer.

 

Removing his fingers he noted the groan of disappointment in Byakuya’s voice and chuckled lightly, he pulled back his hand and spat as much as he could into his palm, loving the look of complete horror and disgust that his lover gave him. It seemed that even in the heat of passion, even when he was about to get fucked out of his brains, that Kuchiki-sama could still throw a hissy fit over something so dumb and necessary to a smooth, good fucking.

 

“Grow up,” Zaraki growled, “I got to coat my length somehow, unless you want me to go in you raw? Won’t lie to you, it’ll be a bitch with just spit coating it, but it’s not like a little girl like you would carry lube around, is it? So I suggest you stop looking so bloody horrified and just enjoy yourself.”

 

He rolled his eyes and quickly lowered his hand around his length to coat himself. At the very touch he moaned loudly, a sound coming from deep in the back of his throat that touched something deep inside Byakuya, causing his stomach to flutter and his breath to escape him. It seemed that Zaraki was enjoying his momentary masturbation, hissing in pleasure when his hand would twist slightly on each upward stroke, or his finger dip into his slit in order to move the pre-come about with the saliva, and occasionally he’d even reach down to twist or pull at his balls. Byakuya could only lick his lips and shudder at the sight, admiring everything about Zaraki and liking the show a lot more than he’d care to admit.

 

Suddenly he found himself dropped down slightly, not enough so that he was once more resting on Zaraki’s lap but enough so he could feel that eager head of his penis teasing around his hole. He carefully moved his hands to grasp hard on Zaraki’s shoulders, fearful somewhat of being dropped even though those large hands on his waist kept him steady and kept his balance. It was strange but he could find himself instinctively moving so that the other’s penis was now pressed against his hole, and what was stranger was how it seemed to perfectly fit, like two jigsaw pieces fitting together. It made him want to press it in, take it deep inside him, it was a feeling of completion he’d never experienced when he’d taken Hisana – or at least not on a physical level – and he was beginning to crave more. He could feel his own hand moving behind to grip Zaraki’s length, loving how hard it felt but how its outside somehow felt soft, it was a strange mix and he loved how the foreskin moved in his hand, he wanted to one day explore that length in detail.

 

“Ready?” Zaraki rasped.

 

“I believe so.”

 

His lover laughed slightly and nipped hard on his shoulder, hard enough to draw a small amount of blood and make him yelp out loud, thrusting down enough so that the head of the penis began to breach him, and that now both his hands were back upon his lover’s shoulders. He opened his eyes wide to look upon Zaraki nervously, suddenly feeling vulnerable by how his body was naked and Zaraki’s was not save for his member. It made him shudder and feel a stab of fear deep within him.

 

“If you’re ready,” Zaraki mumbled, forcing Byakuya down enough so that his mushroom head was now fully inside him, stretching him and warning him about what was to come. The head was always the hardest part, so the fact Byakuya merely gasped, grimaced and flexed his anal muscles as he got used to it said a lot about what was to come. “Then _beg_ me. Beg me to fuck you.”

 

Byakuya shook his head forcefully, “The day I beg you is the day I lose all rights to call myself a Kuchiki. I suggest you take me now before I am forced to spread vicious rumours to your men about how you wear women’s underwear, and I believe I could easily obtain a pair to plant in your squad’s barracks.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare,” Zaraki growled, sliding Byakuya down so that another inch slid into him, causing him to open his mouth in a wide ‘O’ shape and clench hard onto Zaraki’s shoulders, “No one would believe such a lie anyway.”

 

“If you do not take me now then we shall soon see what people believe,” Byakuya panted, “So do it. Take me.”

 

“As you wish, _Kuchiki._ ”

 

With that he let go of Byakuya’s waist completely and let the man drop fully onto his shaft, he ignored the look of complete shock on Byakuya’s face and merely grinned demonically. He threw his own hands back behind him to support his own body weight during the process to come, the last thing he needed after all was to fall backwards during the passionate lovemaking to come, meanwhile he looked up to see the face of his lover contorted into both pleasure and pain.

 

It seemed that Byakuya was being stretched to his limit, feeling the stretch of muscles never used before in such a manner, but at the same time as the stretching burn of pain he felt there was also bliss, a feeling of electric hot pleasure coursing through his veins as his prostate was brutally smashed, leaving him choking on air itself as his body was wracked with the sweat of heaven. The pleasure felt was just as intense for Zaraki who could feel his member held in a vice-like grip of ecstasy, each fluttering of Byakuya’s inner walls causing him to leak out copious amounts of pre-come and groan loudly in bliss, it felt like he was being milked for all he was worth and God he enjoyed that feeling. He could feel himself bucking up instinctively as he sat cross-legged on the floor, Kuchiki towering above him as he paused to get used to the feeling of being filled. The sight was delicious, erotic and arousing.

 

It had to be said that this wasn’t his favourite position, or even one he’d tried much in the past, but it was perfect for Byakuya’s first time, it would enable him the freedom to control the movements, speed and power and also almost guarantee him that his prostate would be struck on each thrust, causing him pleasure rather than discomfort. What shocked Zaraki most was that he actually rather enjoyed this position, it allowed him to feel every inch of his lover’s body, feel his chest pressed right against his and smell the heavenly, honey-scent of his hair as it grazed his face. He felt thrilled to see every inch of perfect skin, amazed at the velvet like feel of Byakuya’s insides and the sound of his voice moaning, groaning and his taut facial expressions were all like being in the presence of an angel. Considering it was the guy’s first time with gay sex he was acting like a goddamn pro.

 

It was then that he felt Kuchiki rising upward, using his shoulders to gain leverage, and then just as forcefully drop himself back down. The movement caused Zaraki to growl animally, and drive his nails deep into the tatami floor, leaving permanent scars in its surface. The feeling of friction was delightful, almost too much to bear and so tempting he just wanted to throw Kuchiki down on the floor and fuck his brains out, his self-control was waning slightly and when he heard the uncontrolled moans of pleasure from Byakuya he nearly came then and there. To hear the man give into gratification, to see him lose his usual control, it was too erotic to even describe . . .

 

“Kenpachi.”

 

Oh God, that was his given name, to hear it used so breathlessly and with such a tone of adoration and lust made his vision blur, sending hot waves of delight coursing through his member and flood his entire system. To hear Byakuya moaning his name like a whore, to give up his façade of stoic coldness was too much, it was so amazing that it made him thrust up and strike that pleasure spot inside his lover, causing him to almost scream, and he allowed one hand to free itself to wrap around his lover’s member, causing him to actually mewl.

 

“Oh lord, Kenpachi,” Byakuya moaned, moving faster and faster as he tried to set his own rhythm, Zaraki thrusting upwards as he tried to match it, “Kenpachi, Ken, oh Kenpachi.”

 

Byakuya’s member felt wet under his fingers, leaking so much pre-come it was obvious there was long before he spilt his load, and as Zaraki’s hand worked up and down his length his inner walls would spasm, sending such amazing feelings shooting through Zaraki he could almost die. His hand sped up considerably, feeling his lover move up and down even faster now, bobbing up and down at an erratic and impossible pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing around the cold, traditional room. There was a slight squelching noise, possibly from Zaraki’s member being shoved into that now far-from-virgin hole, or possibly from Zaraki’s tight grip on that hot, long member whose head was sliding along his abdomen with each upward lift. Byakuya was now coated with sweat, tiny bead forming on his porcelain skin only to visibly fall between them, meanwhile Zaraki – who needed a bath a day as it was – was soaked so much his uniform was now stained with it, and yet he didn’t care, the smell of sex was so heavy and alluring it was impossible to care.

 

He’d never pegged Kuchiki as a vocal lover, but as he began to rampantly fuck himself on Zaraki’s penis it became evident he truly was. He was losing all the self-control he’d before had, giving into a moment of sheer freedom and abandoning the restraints of his daily life and the pain of duty, and instead was allowing himself to make the most beautiful expressions and noises. He’d mewl as his prostate was hit, moan as his penis was pumped hard, and all but scream the pleasure became to much, and in a haze of lust would find himself saying the name ‘Kenpachi’ over and over again like a manta. It was as if that name could ground him, keep him safe and anchored in reality as his body lost itself to the planes of lust and love.

 

It was hard to say how long it had gone on for – ten minutes, twenty, thirty . . . all Zaraki knew was that this was one of the best fucks he’d had in his life, and with one of the most meaningful men he’d known. It wasn’t even just that feeling of heaven, it was knowing it was _Byakuya_ that he was feeling it with, knowing that it would be something forever shared between the two of them. Maybe he was growing soft in recent years, but he felt something for this man, something deep inside that made him want to repeat this experience and be with him outside of work, outside of fights and outside of even sex. The thought was not a good one, it made him question himself and his identity as the cold-hearted, bloodlust warrior, and so he picked up the pace and began to thrust up hard, powerful fucking Byakuya as much as he could.

 

“Oh Kenpachi!”

 

Suddenly he could feel Byakuya clenching down insanely tight around him, followed by his body going stiff and taut as he let loose a powerful scream that – by all rights – should have brought the manor running to them. He could only assume some smart-ass servant had sensed their reiatsu and heard them talking and fucking, warning everyone else not to interrupt their little session. His lover’s mouth was wide to an extreme, as he held hard onto his shoulders, and suddenly a large sticky mess exploded over his fingers and onto his kosode. It would surely stain but as Byakuya thrust one final time he couldn’t care less . . .

 

Not long after Zaraki found himself thrusting hard up into Byakuya, and bit down painfully into his lover’s neck, drawing blood and marking him as his. The sheer wave of nirvana that echoed through every part of him was almost too much to bear, almost making him pass out cold where he sat, and he could feel himself unloading into that tight heat that was Byakuya. Wave after wave of come left him, leaving him wondering if it’d ever end or even if he’d came so much even in his teenage years, and eventually he felt it seep out over and onto his own balls and hakama. The afterglow was so overwhelming, amazing and fantastic that he collapsed backwards onto the floor and dragged Byakuya along with him, kissing him fanatically as if it were his first ever kiss, both of them moaning loudly despite it all being over.

 

Then – with a soft movement – Zaraki rolled them over and pulled out.

 

He looked down into Byakuya’s eyes and smiled. The other man looked thoroughly sated and at peace, but more importantly he didn’t show an ounce of regret and seemed to find a deep love from somewhere within him, looking at Zaraki with an expression of infinite kindness and desire. Zaraki couldn’t remember ever being looked at that way, and – despite how he wanted not to – found himself grinning like a Cheshire cat and licking his lips in anticipation of a possible another go. He could see them perhaps working out long-term, they were completely compatible sexually so all that was left was to try things out romantically, if it worked out then after a while he could be a part of Kuchiki’s life, and he could be a part of his and Yachiru’s. The pleasure he felt at the thought of being with Byakuya was confusing, but not unpleasant, but who knew, maybe it was just the afterglow talking.

 

After a few moments Byakuya spoke: “I do believe you kicked out when you rolled us over, my yukata is now covered with ink, it is completely ruined.”

 

Zaraki blinked a few times before turning his head and looking behind him. He had indeed kicked over the inkwell, overturning it so that it left a large rectangular stain on the white fabric, and even knocking the ink stone itself all over the place so that large marks covered the poem and tatami. It amazed him that would be the first thing for Byakuya to comment on after such wild sex, but it just went to show the male’s personality. Still, it was almost an insult that out of all the things the man could comment on, it had been a stained yukata.

 

“Huh,” He mumbled, “Yachiru was right, you really are a peacock.”

 

Byakuya’s eyes twitched dangerously at this, and his former stoic expression came back so his smile was eradicated and his indifferent mask was replaced: “Speaking of Kusajishi-Fukutaichou, I must warn you that you’re currently displaying yourself crudely and covered with semen on your clothing. This room is one of the few with a secret tunnel still attached, and the Female Shinigami Association meeting is very nearly finished, meaning that any moment Yachiru will be here to ask for some sweets before heading for home.”

 

“W-What? You’re kidding?”

 

“Indeed I am not,” He said sternly, “You have five minutes before she arrives.”

 

Immediately Zaraki began to tuck away his member and frantically try to make himself look presentable, he was starting to panic when he couldn’t wipe away the stains on his clothes or the ink markings on the floor, and after a minute or two seemed ready to have a meltdown. Byakuya however tried his best to hold back a smirk as he gracefully slid back on his soiled yukata, planning on disposing of it as soon as he’d had a fresh bath and found something new to wear.

 

Tomorrow he would find Zaraki and speak to him about the matter that had happened just moments ago, with any luck the other man would be open to beginning a relationship. Today however he simply found it amusing to see Zaraki in such an outright panicking state, even going so far as to quickly mumble a ‘thanks, that was great, but I have to go. Tomorrow we’ll talk, okay?’ before running out of the door, and away from the manor. The reason he found the whole scenario amusing was simple, firstly was that he was sure Yachiru was having a ‘sleepover’ at one of the other female lieutenant’s houses, and secondly that the secret tunnel to this room had been sealed and destroyed months ago. Zaraki did not need to know that however, after all it was much more fun this way . . .

 

Nobody called Kuchiki Byakuya a ‘peacock’.

 


	4. Chapter Four

# Chapter Three: Zaraki/Byakuya

 

The progression of events had been altogether unexpected . . .

 

Life in the Seireitei typically evolved at a slow, leisurely pace where even the most urgent of events tended to have a way of drawing themselves out. Hisana’s death had taken five long years, Ukitake-Taichou’s illness – despite being fatal – had resided inside him since his time at the Soul Academy, and even Aizen Sosuke’s betrayal had taken the better part of a century to come into effect. In the world of the living Byakuya understood the process of actions and reactions, where any deed committed would cause another deed to take place, and in the process – like ripples in water – a chain reaction would occur in which multitudes of people would be affected by one small choice.

 

His life was not like that. His life was one of stillness, solitude and structure, a life in which no matter how many stones one threw there would never be a ripple in the pond, never a splash in the water. When he had caused trouble as a youth his boyish nature was gradually worn down, until at last he was a Kuchiki and what could be proudly called a man, and when he had adopted Rukia no real words had been said and she had been absorbed into the family as if she had always been there. There was a part of him as a boy that wanted to be disciplined severely for his games of Shunpo-Tag with Yoruichi, or chastised for his choice in allowing Rukia into the family, and more than that a part of him longed to see consequences to his actions. He longed for the day in which his closeted life of monotony would yield something real and raw, something in which he could truly say he had made an impact on those around him, or they upon him. He was a Kuchiki, proud and controlled, and yet am immature side to his personality craved for some disorder, just to know that he would finally see those ripples on the pond’s surface, just to know that for one moment in time he had caused something to occur that otherwise shouldn’t. That he had an actual impact on the world.

 

It was true that this had occurred somewhat with the arrival of the Ryoka. It was a classic example of ‘be careful what you wish for’, in which his very heart was torn asunder with the horrific pain of facing his sister’s potential death. He was faced with the knowledge that he would watch her die as Hisana had died, that he would be unable to prevent it, knowing he was helpless yet again. That devastating feeling of inevitability hadn’t been the only emotion to completely overwhelm him either, for when he felt the pain of losing a loved one the grief of his parents accompanied it, and the realisation he had made a promise to them in direct conflict with that of Hisana.

 

His parents had conceived him, carried him, born him, raised him, nurtured him, they had taught him everything about life and what it had meant to be a Kuchiki, and to them he owed his entire existence and soul. He had for them an unconditional love in which he could never hope to repay, his debt to them was simply too great, and so when they had died a part of him died too, leaving him with a gap that was too great to be filled. He had tried to mend things with a promise. He swore to them that he would never break a rule again, he would abide by the law and he would be everything a Kuchiki should be, he would be a role model for his people. It would be to him that the common men should look up to and aspire to be, knowing that he was a beacon of virtue and would never break a law or rule for as long as his life demanded it. He would honour his parents’ memory by being everything they could ever want, and he would give his life to uphold that sacred image. He would make amends for his previous wrong against the family by doing this one deed, by keeping this one promise . . .

 

Then Rukia was to be executed.

 

It was a fate that on its own was devastating, enough to force him to shed tears in the privacy and sanctuary of his private bath, and enough to make him pray to Hisana and his ancestors for guidance and hope. He had came to love this girl as his sister, teaching her all he knew about nobility and conduct, teaching her to be all she could be whilst protecting her from harm and nurturing her abilities. She was a perfect child, a perfect teenager, a perfect woman and it was to Hisana that he had promised to protect her, to nurture her, to love her and to make sure she stayed perfect and stayed safe. He had promised to make sure Rukia would be free from pain, from harm, that he would love her always, and yet he could not fulfil his promise! He had reneged on the most sacred of promises and broken his word to the woman he had loved, and in turn betrayed his sister.

 

He could not save Rukia without breaking the law of the Seireitei, thus dishonouring his parents, but by leaving Rukia to die he was betraying his promise to Hisana to keep her safe. No matter what he chose he would be betraying someone he loved, he would be breaking a fundamental moral code! To let someone die was a sin, but to break a law was immoral, no matter what he did he would be damning his soul and committing a grave error, and even though his heart screamed at him to save Rukia, to do something to allow her to live, he did not. He chose to let her die. It was something so despicable that even Rukongai trash like Zaraki-Taichou and Ichimaru-Taichou had chosen to mock him; even they with their subhuman ethics and common ideals could see his sickening choice and error.

 

He couldn’t even express his guilt, he couldn’t even express his grief, for his clan demanded perfection and so he must retain a calm, collected façade and his expression must never falter. Inside his heart was breaking, his very foundational beliefs of what it meant to be human had been destroyed, he no longer knew who he was and what he stood for, and yet he could not express one ounce of it! To this day he did not understand how his fellow captains could bear to work alongside him, knowing that he was willing to sacrifice his own sister for the ‘greater good’, and how Rukia could bear to look at him he did not know. Surely she must hate him for being so cold, indifferent, so unfeeling to her cause? He had looked her in the eye and told her she was to die, he hadn’t even looked her way as she stood to be executed, and even though for both of those events he was moments away from screaming aloud in frustration . . . she would ever know. To her viewpoint he could be nothing but an emotionless monster, a shell of a man without a heart, and yet she still loved and adored him. Why?

 

The strange part to him was that despite his actions, despite Aizen’s defection and the appearance of the Ryoka, despite how the entire Seireitei was thrown into chaos, his own life had not changed in the slightest. He was still head of his clan, he was still Captain of Squad Six, and he was still the idolised brother of Kuchiki Rukia, and nothing –  _nothing_ – had changed.

 

The rain from the clouds had not fallen, the ripples in the pond had not spread and the wind had not rustled the leaves in the trees: there was an action but not a reaction, there was progress but with a status quo, and there was that dichotomy of life that said ‘nothing shall touch Byakuya, but all shall touch his heart’. It was something he’d came to expect, the inevitability of nothing and the longing for something, he’d grown used to the yearning of his heart and knew well it would never be satisfied, and so he had stopped hoping for more in life. He knew not to expect love, desire, friendship or equality for these were things he could never obtain, and no matter how much he longed for companionship he knew his heart would always ache, for a Kuchiki must suffer eternal solitude, knowing no man or woman could ever touch them. So after all that had happened to him with Zaraki he had not expected anything to happen, expect perhaps a broken heart.

 

He had been wrong.

 

He remembered waking up the next morning feeling once more alone. He’d of course bathed after his encounter with Zaraki, then retired immediately to bed, sleep had come quickly and been exceptionally pleasant, but then morning came . . . There had been no arms wrapped around him, no breath massaging his neck, no warm words of gratitude. There had only been a cold room, cold sheets and a cold silence. He could remember feeling his heart clench and tighten, knowing his was completely alone and had allowed himself to be used, knowing that his fix for his heart had indeed been short-term and now he felt nothing but humiliation and repulse. He could imagine how Zaraki would hate him, mock him, laugh at his moment of weakness, and suddenly facing what would be a mortifying, humiliating Captain’s meeting in little over two hours time had him terrified. He couldn’t face that man! He couldn’t! Not after all they had done, not after he had worn his heart on his sleeve and shown his most vulnerable state to a man who could not stand him . . .

 

The strange thing was his worry had been over nothing. He had barely set foot into the meeting room before Zaraki dragged him outside, lecturing him for playing an immature prank when they could have spent the night together, and then said he was meeting Kuchiki again that night whether he liked it or not. Byakuya had no idea whether to be furious or relieved! There was a part of him that longed for the touch, kindness and love of another, but at the same time how dare a low-life commoner speak to him in such a way? Zaraki had no right to make such demands! Yet . . . despite those demands Byakuya had allowed him access each night for a month into his manor, where every other night they would make love, train or simply sit in silence, absorbing whatever moment was between them.

 

He couldn’t quite be sure what was happening between them, but he was certain that in his heart of heart’s that they were a couple, however unofficial, secretive, and private they kept their relationship. It was impossible for him to believe that Zaraki loved him, and no matter what he felt for the other man he would never be allowed to have him as a lover, partner or husband, and so he could not say for certain where their relationship was headed. If Zaraki did not love him then his heart would no doubt eventually be broken once more, and yet if these few special moment together staved off his loneliness he was willing to bear it, even if that meant a devastating blow later. The pain he felt was too acute, too brutal not to allow a glimmer of hope into his life, for Zaraki indeed made his heart swell in a way he had not felt since Hisana, and he could only pray that these moments of joy would last. Yet what if Zaraki did love him? What then? He could surely not disobey his clan by allowing a ruffian to join their midst, and he could not be expected to help raise Yachiru when he was already in charge of Rukia. Could their relationship last or was it doomed, floating in the water like a fish without the soul to swim . . .

 

Indeed, it was all progressing much too quickly, so much so that he could not process his thoughts or feelings and nor could he say for certain just what it was Zaraki wanted, and so he was forced to take a day off to meditate silently at home, hoping that the peace would allow him to come to a conclusion. His fukutaichou understood well that Byakuya was not to be disturbed, and however worried (or not worried) Zaraki was he would not descend the Kuchiki Manor in the daytime, and so he was free to have a day of rest.

 

The only problem was it seemed no one had told that to Yachiru . . .

 

Currently he stood at the end of the main corridor in Kuchiki Manor, looking down the vast length to where the door to his bedroom stood, and although he wanted nothing more than to retire for a short period, to gather his thoughts and consider his situation, he could not. There was an obstacle in his way unlike any other, for it seemed that Yachiru – like the time she was given a scooter for her birthday – had decided to try out a new toy in his halls. It would not be possible to pass her until she had stopped or calmed down, he could of course Shunpo or keep close to the wall and skilfully evade her, but that would not be dignified; he was a Kuchiki, he must act like one.

 

The little fukutaichou of Squad Eleven was currently skating down the hall on an odd contraption, one he had once heard of from Hisana: roller skates. It was true she looked adorable as she bent in half, moving quickly with a large smile on her features and a true twinkle in her eyes, and the way she waved her arms and legs made it clear the infinite energy her age allowed her. Her cheeks were alight with a crimson flush, her little lips echoed out a giggling laughter, and each time she reached the end of the corridor she’d give a graceful spin and turn the other way for more fun. He admired the way her shihakusho bellowed in the breeze she created, found it cute how she’d drag her Zanpakuto behind her, and he was smiling inside at her innocence, naivety and youth. She was truly a breath of fresh air to his manor, a symbol of life and change, something special and sacred. Zaraki was lucky to have her as a daughter . . .

 

It was not possible however for him to express such a love for the girl, not when her wooden skates were leaving scratches on the floor, or her girlish laughs disturbed his peace. It did not matter how serenely cute she was this was still his home and he was still a noble, he had concerns that a mere child could not comprehend and an image to maintain she would not understand, and this behaviour simply would not do.

 

“Yachiru,” He said softly, not even flinching as she came within inches of him and barely came to a halt in time to avoid a collision, “I must ask what you think you are doing in the corridor of my manor.”

 

The little girl giggled lightly, her hand coming up to her lips to hide her laughter in a rather ladylike way, making Byakuya wonder where she had learnt such an elegant gesture. It certainly wasn’t from her barbaric father, so perhaps it came from one of the female Shinigami at the Female Shinigami’s Association? If so then perhaps the group had more of a beneficial element to its members than he once thought.

 

“I’m skating, silly!”

 

“I can see that,” He replied calmly, closing his eyes to allow his temper to stay reigned in and so no distractions could take place, “I believe you misunderstood my question. I meant to ask ‘why are you skating in this particular area?’”

 

“Oh, that’s an easy question! Kenny got mad at Baldy for wrestling with Feathers in the admin room, so Baldy is trying to make Kenny happy again by making me happy too! He made me these wooden skates, they’re lots of fun! Kenny said that because you’re my new mommy you wouldn’t mind if I played here.” She crossed her arms and gave a sharp pout, “There’s not much room to play in the Eleventh division.”

 

“I see. Carry on . . .”

 

“Thanks, mommy!”

 

Byakuya gave a visible wince at her words and tried hard not to let his frustration show. It was hard to say if Yachiru was being purposely trying, saying such things to get a rise from him whilst knowing it would be impossible to discipline her without the wrath of Zaraki, or whether she was simply being innocent and sincere, saying what she said without any idea of the implications of her words. It didn’t seem to matter either way what her motives were, for no sooner had he given her permission to carry on had she skated right down the corridor and out of sight, hopefully to torment some poor servant and to stay out of his hair.

 

It was indeed easy to rid oneself of Yachiru but her presence left an undeniable impact on a person, even after she herself had left. Her pranks were notorious amongst the Shinigami, such as purposely redistributing Soul Candy so as to humiliate those who used them, and her most frustrating prank of all which was the creation of secret tunnels and a swimming pool in his manor. Yet Soul Candies could be destroyed, pools could be destroyed, secret tunnels too could be destroyed, the humiliation of being called ‘mommy’ by a child unrelated to him could  _not_ be destroyed.

 

The rage inside him now overtook his previous depression and doubts; in fact with each passing moment he could feel a fire in his veins that spoke of the need for unnecessary violence, a cloud of red over his eyes that impaired his judgement. It was a deep offence, and for that he desired compensation for this feeling. The very word had an implication of someone weak, feminine, submissive, it also implied a deep relationship with the child that required a great deal of responsibility and trust, and it would also send a message out that he was in an intimate relationship with the child’s father. The implication that he was weak was a great insult, one that dealt a deep blow onto the pride of his clan, cutting deep into the flesh of a great and noble family, insulting not only himself but also his entire ancestry in the process. The implication that he had a parental bond with Yachiru was also an implication he wished to deny, for without the explicit consent that came with the father’s permission to exert discipline and punishment he could not call himself a parent. Indeed it would mean that the outside world would look to him to exert an influence over the child which he could not, it would mean he would be unable to change her behaviour whilst the world looked to him to do so, it would mean being humiliated at a deep level for failing as a father, a job at which he never asked to have. Yet worst of all was the fact – by that one word alone – she had associated him with Zaraki Kenpachi . . .

 

To his knowledge this was the first ever time she had addressed him by that term, and to his knowledge she had only been told of their relationship but yesterday, that meant that she had not yet had the time to refer to him by such a ridiculous word to any one else. That was so far a small relief. The problem lay in that should she say such a thing to him outside of this confined environment there would no doubt be hell to pay, for at once the whole of Seireitei would know of their relationship, they would know that the great Kuchiki Byakuya was intimate with the demon Kenpachi.

 

How could he possibly reveal to the world his feelings for that man? Zaraki Kenpachi was a brute of a creature, living solely to lust himself on the blood of others, killing the previous captain for his title, and uncaring about the delicacies of etiquette and respect. He was a common man from the Rukongai, poor and pathetic, and whilst it had been a great dishonour for him to marry Hisana she had been from one of the better areas, not from the furthest most region of that hellish place. If he were to be seen courting Zaraki his family would be shamed, he would bring great dishonour to his clan, and he would lose all respect. Indeed how would he face his men? How could Kuchiki Byakuya stand as captain when he could not even stand as head of the Kuchiki family? He was already sullying himself, dirtying himself, by allowing the touches and caresses of Zaraki, but to openly admit their relationship to the world, to allow this man and his daughter into his life . . . it would require a change in his outlook, betraying his family’s expectations, humiliating himself in front of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. It would require him to lose his identity, to forego everything he stood for, to become somebody else. It would mean lowering himself, and that was something he was unsure he could do . . .

 

Yet what would it mean if he were to deny himself the right to see Zaraki? He may hate himself for feeling such things but he could not deny loving the man. There was a certain rugged charm about Kenpachi in his looks, the way he could smile and yet still retain a hint of danger and passion, or the way he always appeared so masculine and domineering in a way that the softer, pampered Kuchiki could not. He most of all loved being treated as an equal and not being put on a pedestal, he enjoyed the conversations they had and the language of the common man, the way he could say freely what was on his mind and not worry of how it may appear, it was indeed a freedom unlike any other. He could truly be himself around the older man, for what did a commoner care about etiquette, appearances, customs or traditions? It didn’t matter about honorifics, if what he said was acceptable, if his opinions would be an influence on others, or even if he held his hands wrong whilst drinking tea, or sat in an inappropriate position. Zaraki only cared about the basic necessities, providing someone treated him with respect he couldn’t care about the little details, and perhaps that was the way it should be? It allowed Byakuya to have a freedom he’d never in his life had before, it allowed him to just be himself, whoever that self was . . .

 

It was a deep conflict, one he’d experienced often in his life, one that came with the duties and responsibilities of being a noble, a captain and a man. Did he sacrifice his desire for Kenpachi to please those around him, or did he reject the proper traditions expected of him in order to achieve true happiness? He was head of his clan, no one could disown him for his decision, and yet it was deeply rooted in him to make the right decisions, to do what was best for his people. Would it be hypocritical to try and merge a new life with an old? Would it be wrong to be with a commoner, perhaps to even marry him, whilst still clinging to old traditions and ways? Was it even possible to combine the two?

 

Byakuya drew in a deep but silent breath and began to slowly march to his room. The sudden quiet was only broken for a moment by Yachiru skating once more along the halls, breezing past him quickly enough so that she ruffled his scarf and haori in passing. He glanced down at her and watched her move with a smile, feeling a spark inside himself of both joy of her happiness but worry should he speed cause injury to herself, it was a feeling he was unfamiliar with, but one that caused him to almost glow inside. Was this truly a maternal feeling? Had Zaraki seen a part of him that he had not recognised until this moment, a part that sought to protect and nurture a being younger than him? No. What foolishness. He was being sentimental, not maternal, and as a Kuchiki he should recognise that and chastise himself for such an unfitting emotion . . . and yet he couldn’t help but issue forth the warning that came out of his mouth, as if something had compelled him to say it.

 

“Watch your speed, Yachiru,” He said loudly, refusing to even turn around to give her eye contact, “Should you crash into an object you may cause yourself pain and break something of value, I trust you to be careful.”

 

“Aw, but Baldy says its okay to break stuff, he says we can just replace it!”

 

“Baldy –,” He clenched his hands firmly and tried not to growl at his mistake. This girl was truly a bad influence on him, “ _Madarame-san_ is not in charge of this manor. Many of these items can not be replaced, and therefore you shall not break them, if you do I may be forced to remove all sugary foods from your presence.”

 

“Aw, no fair! I’m telling Kenny!”

 

He waited a few moments for the sounds of her to die away before continuing his walk to his room. He was certain he could feel the familiar pangs of a migraine coming on, the sharp pain in his temples and the nauseous feeling in his stomach, along with very mildly blurred vision which would no doubt evolve into temporary blindness should he overriding stress continue.

 

Upon reaching his bedroom he slowly opened the door and slid inside, closing the door firmly behind him, relishing the fact that – alone in the sanctuary of his private sphere – he could finally just be himself, act as he wished, and worry about no one save himself. His room was bare save from the necessities but that was just the way he wanted and needed things, it meant that there was no distractions, no unnecessary items to draw away his attention from important matters; this was a room solely for meditation and sleep. It would be here he could finally focus on the issues that mattered to him, it would be here he could think things through alone and come to some sort of resolution, where he could finally say ‘this is what I want’. To just be able to say those words would be heavenly for him, a huge relief and a weight off of his shoulders, to just make that decision whether Zaraki would or would not be in his life, be a part of it as much as Rukia or Renji were. He longed so much for a clear-cut answer, if someone could just tell him with certainty ‘this is what you must do’ he would have perhaps cried tears of gratitude, but as it was it was up to him and him alone. No one could make this decision for him, and for that he hated himself. It was a burden, a duty, a responsibility, and how could he expected to bear such a heavy weight alone?

 

It was with a sigh that he turned around to retire to his bed, and it was with another heavy sigh that he caught sight of Kenpachi lying in said bed. The man was thankfully fully dressed in his uniform, complete with Zanpakuto tucked into his side, and he was grinning at Byakuya with a smile that spoke of power and amusement, and it was a look that Byakuya did  _not_ approve of.

 

What right did this man have – lover of his or not – to enter his private domain without explicit permission and to lie on his bed? This was his personal space, a space set aside for his use and his use only, and this man – this  _commoner_ – had intruded upon it and contaminated it, marking it with his presence in a way that was not acceptable. If Kenpachi had asked for permission then Byakuya would certainly not have denied him, for this man was his lover and his companion, if they were to possibly make a future together there could be no secrets and all must be shared, but as it was this was nothing but a mark of disrespect and dishonour. It was a sign that Zaraki had not considered his feelings, had not cared for his opinion or privacy, and the way he grinned as if to say ‘it’s nothing’ goaded a feeling of anger inside Byakuya that he longed to act on. He could not help but wonder if he had entered Zaraki’s private rooms what would have happened, would the man have been hypocritical and demanded a duel, or would he have been understanding and kept this same smile on his features?

 

Byakuya at once bristled and tore his line of sight away from Zaraki. He focused instead upon a small Buddha statue in the far corner of his room, one that he often used as a figure of inspiration in the lonelier hours of his life, reassuring himself that Hisana’s karma and pure spirit would have led her to a greater life than what he had offered her. He gently removed his scarf and folded it neatly, placing it gently on a small table beside the door, before taking off his haori and placing it carefully on top so that his numbered insignia was on show.

 

“Yachiru is looking for you.” He said coldly to Kenpachi.

 

Zaraki gave a short, rough laugh as he shifted his position on the bed. He raised his leg to use it as a place to rest his arm, but his movement caused his Zanpakuto to get in the way, and so – with a forceful, aggressive movement – he removed his sword and threw it carelessly across the room. Byakuya didn’t even blink at the noise of metal clashing hard on the tatami mats, but he did issue forth a sharp look of exasperation towards his lover. How in the world did that man ever hope to speak to his Zanpakuto and learn its name when he couldn’t treat it with an ounce of respect?

 

“Heh,” Zaraki grunted, shifting again to get comfortable, “She won’t find me. Ayasegawa is collecting her in a few minutes to take her to the pound, told her she could get a dog, so thought I’d kill two birds with one stone and punish my fifth seat by making him take her. I’ve asked him to stop by Komamura’s too; hopefully Yachiru can cause him some trouble by wanting to take him home. Bastard.” 

 

“How thoughtful of you.”

 

“That sarcasm I hear? Anyone would think you weren’t happy to see me.” Zaraki beamed brightly at his own words, his lips parting to reveal teeth that seemed more predatory than they should, “Can’t a guy check up on his boyfriend when he takes a day off work? Got to make sure you’re alive, I can’t fuck a dead man after all.”

 

“Oh? ‘Boyfriend’? ‘Man’? Are sure you do not mean to refer to me as a girlfriend or perhaps as a woman?”

 

Zaraki could recognise that pissed-off tone anywhere, it was the exact same tone that Yumichika took with Ikkaku when they were having some sort of lover’s tiff, and it was a tone Zaraki hated. If you were fucking angry with someone then why couldn’t you just tell him or her like a man? The people who beat around the bush, who used sarcasm or irony, those who hid what they felt were cowards, people too afraid to just come out with what they felt or wanted. He hated those people, and besides it was just so much easier to be honest. He wasn’t a mind-reader, the last month between them had been filled with training, fucking, conversation and love-making, if he was expected to just  _know_ what was wrong when it all seemed to be fine, then Byakuya was a goddamned idiot and a moron.

 

“Do I?” Zaraki grunted, “Last time I checked you were all man, so unless there’s something you’re not telling me,  _Kuchiki,_ then I’m pretty sure you’re my fucking boyfriend. So if you got a problem man up and tell me, because at the minute you’re acting like a menstrual woman.”

 

Okay, judging by the twitch in Byakuya’s eyes that was probably the wrong thing to say, but he wasn’t going to lie to the guy he liked or use a bunch of pretty words to make his statement seem nicer, he was going to tell it to Byakuya like it was and screw the consequences. The way Zaraki saw it the guy was either mature enough to grow up and talk things out or he wasn’t, hopefully it was the former but he could deal with the latter if he had to, in fact it could be fun to get into a fist-fight with an equal even if it was over something so petty . . . then again any excuse to fight was a good one. He loved the passion of fighting, the adrenaline, the desperation, the emotion; he loved the thrill most of all and to feel that with someone he loved was the best kind of fight, as long as it wasn’t a fight to the death of course.

 

He wasn’t sure why but for some reason a fight with Byakuya didn’t really seem worth it, not at that particular moment anyway. It was strange because like he’d said he loved to fight, especially his sparring with his lover, but he knew Byakuya was pissed off like some teenage girl who’d caught her sister wearing her favourite dress, and the fact the guy he was supposed to love could be such a freaking immature wimp pissed him off. It meant that if they headed into a fight he couldn’t guarantee he’d hold back, and the last thing he wanted was to do serious damage . . . Huh, that was new, doing damage to his opponent was what he lived for! Why was it that Byakuya was different, why was it with this man he wanted to hold back and refrain from hurting him? He had to be going soft, maybe he should start a fight just for the hell of it, just to remind himself that he was a man and not a mouse, that it didn’t matter whether he fought Byakuya or cut him in two, because what mattered was the battle and not the people. Still, for some reason something held him back, and he yearned to hold Byakuya and find out what was wrong, even beat it out of him, but the thought of killing him wasn’t there. It was hard to comprehend. Maybe this was what love was, not wanting to kill the other person even when they were acting like pissed, little bitches.

 

“If you must know,” Byakuya said softly, carefully placing Senbonzakura on its allocated rack on an alter opposite the bed, “Yachiru told me something rather interesting. It seems you have told her I am her new ‘mommy’.”

 

“That’s what got you so worked up?” Zaraki grunted loudly and rolled his eyes, “Fine. I’ll get her to call you ‘father’ instead. Even a noble like you can’t complain about  _that._ ”

 

“What if I do find a complaint with that?”

“What? You want her to add ‘sama’ on the end of it, like that weird sister of yours? It’s always ‘o _nii-sama’_ this and ‘ _onii-sama’_ that _._ Heh! What kind of moron shows anyone that level of respect, especially some bratty brother? You need to teach that kid some backbone, Kuchiki.”

 

“You miss my point.” Byakuya replied harshly, “It is not the term she uses but the meaning behind it. I do not think it appropriate that she refers to me as ‘mommy’, ‘father’ or any other word which implies a parental relationship with her.”

 

“Oh, I get it . . .”

 

He watched as Byakuya carefully removed his uniform. His back was turned so that Zaraki was unable to see his face, but he was left with a perfect view of flawless, porcelain skin as his lover allowed each item of his uniform to slide slowly and sensuously off his limbs, each item falling gracefully like water droplets cascading down a smooth surface. The view was spectacular, to see his lover naked only feet away from the bed they so often made love in, that long and lithe body and those firm, muscular buttocks, it was a sight many men would pay to see.

 

Had this little show have happened at any other time then Zaraki would have admitted to being fully aroused, probably even going so far as throwing his lover down on the bed then and there and pounding him unconscious, but as it was that was the furthest thing from his mind. He may have been nothing but a dirty ‘commoner’, but he knew enough about nobility to realise what they said was never what they actually mean, and the offence he felt at Byakuya’s words made his heart beat faster, his shoulders tighten and his eyes narrow. He could feel that flood of adrenaline coursing through his blood, he could feel that shot of the drug that always forced his body into the movements of battle, urging him to defend, protect and dominate. The anger was already seeping into his mind, clouding his judgements, blocking his common sense, and the fury and feeling of protectiveness that overcome him was enough to make him want to leap off the bed and punch that prick in the face then and there.

 

Only one thing stopped him from that surge of violence he’d be unable to take back, and that was his love for Byakuya. He may have hated him at that moment, loathed and despised him, but he knew if he raised a single fist to the man it’d be ‘abuse’ and that Byakuya would not easily forgive him, and for some reason the thought of going a long time without him – even a lifetime – pissed him off more than that one short moment of anger itself. This was a problem that could be fixed, but if he were to take a physical shot at that cocky Kuchiki it’d be a relationship broken for good.

 

The problem was it didn’t help that Byakuya could strut around naked as he searched for a yukata to wear, even bending down to the low shelves of his antique wardrobes indecently, as if trying to seduce Zaraki. It wasn’t that it aroused Zaraki or made his lover irresistible, it was that Byakuya was trying to  _manipulate_ him. He was trying to dodge the issue, dodge the offence he’d just caused, and try and make Zaraki forget with the promise of hot sex to come. In fact there was a word for that: whorish. It made Byakuya – in his opinion – look cheap, shallow and superficial, thinking with a mentality that ‘if I seduce him he’ll forget’, thinking that sex would solve it all. Well, sometimes it did, sometimes when you were single a quick and pointless fuck solved a lot, but with the person you loved you expected something deeper and more meaningful, you expected honesty and to solve your problems and not just temporally gloss over them with a makeshift band-aid or sex. It was offensive enough that Byakuya thought so little of Zaraki that he’d fool for it, even worse to see his lover demeaning himself by acting like a whore, just to avoid an important issue.

 

The thing was that by denying Yachiru the right to call Byakuya ‘father’, ‘mother’ or even just a parent, he was doing two things: he was undermining their relationship and he was insulting his daughter too.

 

He could forgive the first one. Zaraki and Byakuya had been ‘dating’ for the past month, and although Zaraki was pretty happy he would admit that their relationship had been top secret from the others, and he’d admit that that pissed him off. Okay, so he was a commoner, he fucking got that already! He knew that Kuchiki couldn’t be seen to be dating him, it’s dishonour his clan and ruin his name and all that other stuff, but after a month of sleeping together, training together and getting to know each other it was kind of like ‘leading him on’. Byakuya was doing everything a man in love would do, saying all the things a man who wanted a long-term relationship would say, and who could fault Zaraki if he’d assumed that had meant the man had wanted more? Any rational being would assume they were in a serious relationship together.

 

It didn’t matter though, they’d never really sat and discussed where things were going, and Kuchiki had been honest about his snobbery and prejudices from the very start, so if Kuchiki didn’t want to be the ‘mommy’ to Zaraki’s ‘daddy’ then fine. It wasn’t as if he could expect a nobleman to want to be seriously in a relationship with a commoner, and if he wanted to carry on with the behind-the-scenes relationship then fine, let him. Zaraki could wait a while, but he certainly wasn’t the type for games, so if Kuchiki really couldn’t get his act together then he would be gone in a flash. However that did not – under any means – excuse the slight to Kusajishi Yachiru.

 

By refusing to let the girl think of him as a parent it kind of denied his relationship with Zaraki, because – after all – you had two parents and everyone knew Zaraki was Yachiru’s, so anyone else who was a parent to Yachiru had to be close or intimate to Zaraki. It was implied, because that’s how ‘parents’ worked. However it was so much more than just that . . .

 

No one knew or suspected that Byakuya and Zaraki were an item, meaning that if Yachiru suddenly started calling Byakuya ‘mommy’ they’d assume a lot of things; maybe the girl was desperate for a role-model she could relate to, maybe she had an odd girlish crush on the man, or maybe Byakuya had been on so many missions recently with her father she’d come to see them as a ‘pair’. The idea that the two men were an item would be the very last thing people assumed. In fact Yachiru was even prone to calling a few of the female Shinigami ‘aunt’ at times, and no one ever objected to that, so if Byakuya was suddenly all pissed off it was because of one thing: he was a noble and Yachiru wasn’t.

 

That was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? Yachiru just wasn’t good enough to be associated on any level with that goddamned Kuchiki clan! Byakuya saw himself as a noble, as an intelligent man with pursuits in calligraphy and who enjoyed moonlit walks, a man whose one scarf cost more than a guy like Zaraki could earn in a year. He was a man who looked down on the ‘Rukongai scum’ despite having a sister from there, a lieutenant from there, fellow captains from there. To him Yachiru wasn’t refined enough, smart enough or polite enough. To a man like Byakuya she was just a hyperactive, snot-nosed brat who caused trouble and lacked ‘breeding’, and no doubt even if a noble like Kira, Shihoin or Kuchiki had raised her she still wouldn’t be good enough, she’d still be the brat from common blood. Would he deny it? If he outright said to Byakuya ‘you think you’re better than Yachiru, don’t you? That’s why you don’t want her calling you it?’ what would his lover say? Ha! He knew exactly what he’d say, and the very thought pissed him off!

 

Yachiru was his little girl. She may have came from so-called ‘common’ stock but she was twice the person that Byakuya was, after all could he master his Zanpakuto to a lieutenant level before he’d even hit puberty? Could he gain the respect of a squad full of adult men before he was even an adult himself? Yachiru was kind-hearted, generous and a brilliant daughter, even when she was jealous of that Ryoka riding on his shoulder or annoyed at Ikkaku for insulting her, she could still act with grace and respect. He had no doubts that one day she’d be a fine captain, a wonderful woman, and she may even make it into a noble family herself and throw the rules of the Seireitei onto its head! No one –  _no one_ – insulted his little girl and lived, not even his damned lover and ‘boyfriend’.

 

“Say what’s on your mind, Kuchiki,” Zaraki growled, sitting upright so that he was now cross-legged and glaring at his partner as he removed that stupid hairpiece of his! “What’s really the issue here? It can’t be the gender reference as I said I’d fix that, I said I’d get her to call you ‘father’ instead. So what is it? Say it. Go on: say it to me! You don’t think she’s good enough, do you? You think we’re both Rukongai scum, you just don’t want to ‘soil’ your name by being associated with her on a personal level! Well! Is that it? Is it?”

 

If he wasn’t watching Byakuya so closely he might have missed the visible wince. His partner’s shoulders and head actually moved slightly in pain of those words, and in his three-quarter profile it was clear how pale his skin had become and how his eyes had became almost sunken. In fact the yukata he had finally chosen was being clutched so tightly in his hands it seemed sure to crease, if not rip, he held it firmly against his chest as his head bent low and his hair cascaded in waves all around his face. When he turned he seemed like a broken angel and Zaraki suddenly felt a twinge of guilt, it was an emotion he couldn’t understand at all, surely if anyone should be guilty it should be Byakuya? Everything Zaraki said he meant and he had a right to say it too! It was Byakuya who was in the wrong, so like hell would he let himself be manipulated into feeling like he was the wrong one, he just wouldn’t.

 

“Well, go on and say it.” He snapped again, “I want to hear it from your lips. I want to hear why it pisses you off so much to hear Yachiru call you ‘mommy’, why it hurts you that a kid might  _actually_ look up to you and like you, and why you’d deny a child that.” He curled his lip harshly and snarled out, “Her parents died right before her eyes, when I first met her she was alone in a sea of corpses, the first thing she did when she came out of hiding was touch the blood of my enemy, and you want to deny her the right to a mother-figure. You would really deny her that? You make me sick.”

 

Byakuya replied so quietly he might not have spoken at all . . .

 

“Speak up, Kuchiki. I can’t hear you.”

 

“I said it’s not what you think.”

 

Zaraki could almost believe him. Those words were so broken, lost, almost as if they were spoken by a man greeted with grief, or recited by a child with the weight of the world on their shoulders. It was a heavy, low sound with an almost unheard cackle to it, as if its owner was due to break into tears. To see the great Byakuya Kuchiki so heartbroken was a rare sight for Zaraki, and he knew not one living person had ever seen him like this, so emotionally naked and vulnerable, it was a testament to how much the noble trusted him and how far their relationship had come in such a short amount of time. Here Byakuya stood nude, his heart on his sleeve, and completely exposed in every way in front of his lover. He no longer stood as a noble, as a captain, as head of his clan, instead he stood as a mere man silently asking for understanding and patience.

 

In his hands the fabric he held rustled lightly, his grip on it becoming impossibly tight as he unconsciously wrapped it around his fists and raised it higher to where his heart beat. On closer look it appeared to actually be a fine, rich kimono of probably priceless worth, its dark blue colour was so vibrant that it seemed to light up the room, and for the first time ever Zaraki noticed just how much that the colour of ocean blue could complement his lover. On the hem and along the edges were flowers he could recognise as being the symbol of Squad Six and the symbol of the Kuchiki clan, and the main design itself seemed to be of silver and pink threads revealing images of dragons and cranes, both flying side-by-side in harmony. The size of the thing was large enough for an adult, but it certainly wasn’t meant for a man, in fact it would have barely fit Byakuya should he have tried it on. What he was doing with a woman’s kimono, and such a formal and elegant one, Zaraki had no idea.

 

“I admit that I was offended and humiliated by the term ‘mommy’,” Byakuya confessed, raising the kimono to his face so that he could bury his face upon it, almost as if it was an item of comfort in the same way a child would often have a blanket or teddy, “It had strong connotations of someone feminine, submissive and weak. You were willing to change that to ‘father’ and that did ease my feelings somewhat, but as I said my main complaint was not with her wording but the meaning of the words themselves.”

 

“Just spit it out, will ya?”

 

Byakuya sighed and carefully began folding the kimono in his arms; “If I must be truthful with you then I shall. A part of me finds it frustrating to be given a title but with none of the responsibilities that come with it, it means nothing to be called a father if I cannot act as one. Yachiru is a sweet girl but not without her flaws, if I was to be called her father I would want to act as one also, that would include teaching her, nurturing her and in particular disciplining her. Today I told her not to break anything, she merely told me that Madarame-san said it was fine and that she was to complain directly to you.” He gently placed the folded kimono on a bare but clean shelf in his wardrobe and stroked it with his long fingers, “How must it look to the outside world when a father cannot even discipline his own child?”

 

Zaraki smirked. So that’s what had Byakuya’s hair in a knot? He was just pissed off that he couldn’t treat Yachiru the same way that Zaraki had a right to. It was kind of . . .  _cute_  in a way, showing that the Ice Queen did have some paternal/maternal instinct, that he really did think of the hyperactive child in some loving, familial way. It kind of warmed his own heart with pride, it was as if his own little daughter could bring about a sense of protectiveness and parental instinct even within the coldest of adults, and it showed a power in her that most of his men didn’t have. Not that they needed to be ‘cute’ in order to win peoples’ hearts, hell no, then he’d have a wimpy-ass squad like those idiots from Squad Four, but it still made him proud that his little girl could have such an affect of people, that she could be so well liked. It was probably true, when he got older he’d have to keep the men away with violence just to keep her protected from that lecherous lot, that’s if she didn’t already have them wrapped around her little finger.

 

“Heh,” He replied with a large smile, “That’s what’s got you so worked up? You want to be a real father to her? If I didn’t intend to give you those same rights then I wouldn’t have told her to call you ‘mommy’ in the first place, as far as I’m concerned you’re welcome to -.”

 

“There is more.”

 

He rolled his eyes, “Of course there is . . .”

 

Byakuya pulled his hand away from the soft fabric and turned to fully face his lover, but the moment his fingertips came away from the kimono a visible mask of pain came over him. His lips seemed to pull downwards, his eyes became downcast and his body became lifeless, it was as if his naked form had been drained of every last ounce of energy it had, as if they strange piece of attire had stolen a part of his very soul, as if he had nothing more left to give. When he walked around the western-style bed it was as if another man had possessed Byakuya’s body. He still walked gracefully, respectfully and like how you’d expect a nobleman too, but something was off, and Zaraki couldn’t help but notice how it seemed as if his lover was dragging his body slightly, as if his limbs were too heavy to carry or his body was too much of a burden to bear.

 

It was strange to see the rich man acting so down on his luck, and Zaraki wasn’t quite sure what to think or say, he was usually brimming with confidence but after seeing Byakuya like this there was a fear that any harsh word would break the man, and if he said anything kind and soft then it’d be like a lie, he’d be pretending to be someone he wasn’t, and that was just as much as an insult as any harsh word could ever be.

 

He watched carefully as Byakuya rounded the left side of the bed and stood by Zaraki’s side, at any other moment in time he would have  _definitely_ been lusting after the man, he was standing facing the wall so that he stood profile to Zaraki but his crotch was right at eye-level and considering how he was still naked . . . Heh, maybe after a whole month Zaraki had finally taught him to ditch the modesty and be comfortable around him, that honesty and openness were acceptable around people you loved, that if you truly trusted someone then you had nothing to hide. It was a nice thought, much nicer than accepting the most probably truth, that his boyfriend was just too upset to care about anything such as appearances, or where he stood, or what implications it had. In fact it was most likely true that he was only ignoring his usual airs and graces because he was upset, made obvious by how his hands were clutching at the bedside table and how his body was slightly hunched over as if in pain. His eyes were clenched shut and his hair was slowly falling over his shoulders to obscure his face and expression, his whole demeanour speaking of the seriousness of what was to come.

 

“That kimono was Hisana’s.” Byakuya said in a voice as soft as silk. “You may not know this but our noble family has a tradition stemming back for generations. When one of our clan marries the bride’s kimono is saved and treasured, then on the day that the couple’s firstborn child comes into the world we wrap that child in the wedding kimono, and it is in that cloth to which we introduce that child to the family, other noblemen and to any visitors who come on that day. The idea is that the wedding kimono symbolises love and fertility, it symbolises a union between two souls that brought about the existence of that child, for that child to wear such an item on the day of its birth means that throughout its life it shall be imprinted with those qualities. It shall grow up as a harmonious person who shall one day enter a marriage of its own, have a child of its own and repeat the tradition that it encountered at birth.

 

“You may know that Hisana, unfortunately, was unable to bear any children of her own. Therefore she decided to save her wedding kimono for Rukia, so that she may wear it on the day of her own marriage, but Hisana was a sentimental and loving woman, and so she decided to leave a special gift of her own . . . She decided to use her own money, her own skills and her own servants to create a beautiful kimono anew, one of her own design, and when it was done she entrusted it to me.

 

“If I were to take a bride then that bride’s kimono would be the one our child would wear, and so the kimono she made was to be for my bride to wear, as a final gift from Hisana, a symbol of her blessing and her support. If I were to take a husband – even a great oaf of commoner –” Zaraki rolled his eyes again. Only Byakuya could insult someone in the same breath as he told a story of beauty and undying love, “– then my husband would of course not wear a feminine kimono on our wedding day, and so our child should wear the one she custom made by hand. She was ill for the full five years of our marriage, getting worse with each passing hour, and so it is safe to say her blood, sweat and tears went into the making of that fine piece of clothing. When I lift it to my lips I can smell her sweet perfume even now. I shall be honoured for any child of mine to wear it.”

 

Zaraki could sense a ‘but’ coming.

 

The story was indeed sweet, back in the Rukongai life was short and brutal, any length of time you could spend with a loved one was cherished and so, despite his manly and brutish appearance, he could appreciate the sentiment. He could appreciate how someone could love another so much that they were willing to do one final deed to show that, that they would try to do anything they could so that their spirit would live on, reminding those around them of that feeling they had. He would admit that he had no idea how those people expressed love, they had no money to buy or make gifts and it wasn’t as if he was the loving sort to ever need to express that emotion, in fact the only person he’d ever loved until joining the Seireitei was Yachiru. That was an easy love to express, but something like what Hisana must have felt was a mystery to him, something so abstract and obscure he couldn’t comprehend it fully, he could only have a vague idea of what it meant. It was kind of like a foreign song, you could hear the tune and understand the basic emotion, but the complexities were lost on an ear that wasn’t tuned to it. He was a commoner, sure, but surely love was love?

 

“I have told you this story for a reason, Kenpachi,” Came Byakuya’s lonely voice, “That kimono I just retrieved was the one made by Hisana. You see I looked upon that kimono a few nights ago; I looked upon it and thought of giving it to Yachiru when she was older. I actually thought of giving it away . . .”

 

Even a commoner like Zaraki could figure out what was going on in that nobleman’s heart. He himself had once had someone he loved and lost, someone whom meant enough to him that he’d named his daughter after them, and so he knew the feeling of what it meant to give something away of theirs, something that wasn’t rightfully yours to give. ‘Yachiru’ was not a name he had claim to, it was the name of the one he’d cared for, and the day he had given that name to Yachiru he had felt an overwhelming sense of honour and pride for that little girl, but also a sense of guilt. It had been as if he had betrayed her namesake, giving away something of theirs that wasn’t really his, and most of all it was like he was giving something up, letting them go, and it was a pain that no one ever really got used to. Not only that but names were special to Zaraki, they meant an identity, a purpose, that someone loved you enough to give you a meaning by defining you with a name. It had felt like by giving Yachiru someone else’s name he’d taken that away from someone, and it wasn’t a nice feeling at all.

 

It had taken him a long while to figure out that it wasn’t names, objects or the such that made up a person, that kept them alive, it was their memory living on inside you. In the Rukongai memories were all people had, and so he figured Byakuya giving up that stupid kimono was probably the same as him giving up that name.

 

“I get it.” Zaraki said calmly, “You think highly of Yachiru and you love her, you wanted to show her how highly you thought of her by giving her something that’s precious to you. You think that by doing that though you’re betraying your wife’s memory, that you’re probably replacing her or forgetting her by letting items that were once hers slip through your fingertips. Am I right?”

 

Byakuya nodded silently.

 

Zaraki may have been a brute bent on bloodlust, but he still could occasionally utter some nuggets of wisdom that revealed truth to the adage ‘still waters run deep’, and sometimes his empathy could be so profound that one had to wonder how someone of his background could ever have came across it. He had heard from Renji a story from Madarame-san about Zaraki’s words to him when they first met, he had even heard from that Kurosaki boy what words had been spoken to him during his first battle with Zaraki, but never had he truly believed the man actually capable of such wisdom his followers proclaimed of him. He had certainly not believed Zaraki capable of empathy with a noble, especially not when battle wasn’t concerned.

 

“Kuchiki, where I come from we don’t have long with the people we care about, and we learn a simple truth,” Zaraki cracked his neck and casually turned around so that he was now sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet touching the floor, “Love isn’t anything more than time spent with a person. You spent every minute with that woman, right? Well that was love. She was a commoner like me, you didn’t even have to get with her in the first place, and when she got sick you could have easily dumped her ass, but you didn’t. The fact you stuck by her probably meant a lot to her. She knew you loved her and you should know she loved you, else she wouldn’t have trusted you with Rukia or made that stupid kimono, am I right? So suck it up, Kuchiki. You aren’t betraying her; you’re just letting her move on, you’re letting yourself move on. That ain’t a betrayal, that’s just life.”

 

“You speak so crudely and yet I am loathe to admit a grain of truth to those words.”

 

“There you go again. Can’t you ever compliment someone without throwing in an insult too? Stuck-up scum.” He slowly stood up and turned around so that although Byakuya’s back was to him he was facing his lover completely, “Listen here Kuchiki, you nobles have to produce an heir, that’s life, so when little Byakuya Junior is born give  _them_ the damned kimono. It’s enough that you’ve freaking let Yachiru into your life, that you were even willing to share your home with her and let her make adjustments. You’re always carrying sweets around for her too and you just admitted she’s a daughter to you. So forget the kimono, use it as it was intended, your daughter won’t mind one bit.”

 

They still had a long way to go . . . It was obvious that Byakuya still was battling with grief and depression, that everything he did he had to relate back to his wife and ask for approval from a ghost of his past, but it was also obvious he had deep feelings for Zaraki too. He also loved Yachiru and it was obvious now, from his actions and intent, that he wanted to be a father to her too and – even if they ever broke up – he’d still continue to be an influence in her life. In fact Byakuya would probably be open enough after this little ‘heart-to-heart’ to let his little girl call him ‘father’ (or most likely ‘daddy’) in public. So in a way they were already like a family, their only problem came with Byakuya’s inner conflict: duty or love, his clan or his lover. Unfortunately that was a problem the noble brat had to work out for himself, even if he did choose Zaraki there was no reason that the clan wouldn’t learn to accept him like they did Hisana, or why they couldn’t have a Kuchiki heir of their own, so it was just up to Byakuya. He had to make his own choice, he had to be a fucking man and stand on his own two feet, make up his own mind and pick which path he wanted to follow, and personally Zaraki had a feeling that whatever he chose the results would be  _very_ interesting.

 

He carefully came to rest his large, calloused hands on his lover’s bare shoulders, holding the flesh firmly under his fingertips as he tried to massage away some of the stress, release some of that burden that made his lover’s skin tighten. His digits seemed to work magic on Byakuya as at once he began to calm and relax, his body softening into the touch, he even seemed to lean back for more as his head fell to once side, his long black locks sliding down his back to leave his long column of neck bare. Kenpachi was certain there wasn’t a more beautiful sight in all of the Seireitei, and when – after a few minutes – he felt Byakuya’s hands covering his own, gently caressing the backs of his hands, he smiled. It wasn’t a grin or a smirk, but a true and sincere smile of desire and affection, and he was grateful that the noble had his back to him, because he’d be damned if he let him see him with a smile on his face, he’d be mocked for sure and no one mocked Zaraki Kenpachi.

 

He pulled back away from Byakuya quickly. It was a soft movement so as not to alarm his lover, not to think he was pulling away in revulsion or contempt, and he made sure not to move more than a foot away so that the damned nobleman would be know that Zaraki wasn’t leaving him, that he was only taking a step back to make the moment easier on them both.

 

Truthfully his reasons for meeting Byakuya were originally not so pure, he’d been aware that his lover had taken the day off from work and wanted to take advantage of that in his break, hoping for things to lead into something physical, with things as they now were his motivation for being here had changed. Of course with a handsome, young, naked man before him he still had the urge for sex, but there was something more to it that was hard to place. Byakuya was hurting, he had opened his soul in a way that nobles were forbidden from doing, showing emotion he wasn’t supposed to have, and that showed a hell of lot of trust in Zaraki, trust he didn’t intend to break. In fact knowing that the other man could feel such trust, affection and loyalty to him just made seeing him in pain all the more awkward and uncomfortable, it made him want to do something to make it better, but what he had no idea. He knew sparring tended to cheer up Ikkaku, sweets for Yachiru and for some reason shopping for Yumichika, but with a deep-seated emotional problem, and one that affected not only a nobleman, but also a captain and his lover . . . It was hard to know what comfort to offer.

 

There were a few things he could think of that would ease Byakuya’s pain, the first was innocent physical contact, being a noble Byakuya seemed to have been deprived basic gestures such as hugs, touches and kisses. It wasn’t as if Byakuya was therefore starved for affection or craved attention, but Zaraki had soon learned that a well-meant hug would mean the world for his lover, because to Byakuya it showed that someone not only thought of him as an equal but simply a human being, a human being who needed love and affection as much as the rest of the world. Hell, sometimes even stroking the guy’s cheek sometimes caused him to smile or blush, and it made Zaraki wonder what kind of sick world it had to be to deprive someone of basic human contact, to make them think that basic human courtesies weren’t normal or signalled disrespect. Oh yes, the Kuchiki’s were  _so_ godlike that the least symbol of friendship or kindness had to be a sign of offence, because who could possibly ever be equal to a Kuchiki? Heh, he’d even heard that Rukia kicked Ichigo to the curb because he ‘dared’ to touch Byakuya, with an outlook on life like that no wonder the nobles were so screwed up and inbred. Still, the only other thing he could think of to soothe a soul was sex, and he doubted that even if they ‘made love’ Byakuya would appreciate it, in fact he’d probably see it as a shallow manipulation, or a sign of a one-track mind that only appreciated one thing. So Kenpachi decided the easiest thing to do was to simply show affection.

 

He shrugged his haori off onto the floor and tugged off his kosode quickly, allowing his bare chest to come on show, and he could see Byakuya’s head lifting slightly at the sound of clothing being removed.

 

He had no idea whether his sudden interest was because he was excited or worried, but whatever it was happened to be anyone’s guess. If Zaraki had to honest though for once the removal of clothes wasn’t a precursor to sexual acts, it was simply to level the playing field and make Byakuya feel more comfortable. The poor idiot had to feel vulnerable and wary walking around his room naked as the day he was born, at least if Zaraki shed some clothes too it might make him feel less exposed, more of an equal . . . if equality was even a concept he was aware of that was. He left his hakama on so that his lover wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and then stepped forward once more, this time wrapping his arms around Byakuya’s waist.

 

The embrace was heart-warming to the both of them. Zaraki could feel the soft, supple flesh of his lover’s back pressed against his own hard, muscular chest, and the feeling of heat against him was more reassuring than he liked to admit. He relished the smell of sweet perfumes that came from that porcelain skin too, his face buried into Byakuya’s neck as he inhaled deeply for more, and each time Byakuya moved his hair would waft and that cinnamon aroma would flood his senses. His arms were wrapped tightly around that thin waist, Byakuya’s hands gripping his forearms for a sense of balance and also protection, holding onto him as if to reassure himself that his lover’s touch was real in itself, and letting his eyes close to take in the moment.

 

“Byakuya,” He said softly, his lips moving hypnotically against sensitive flesh, “If you’re expecting me to say a lot of sentimental clichés about how it gets easier in time, or that I’ll never leave you, then you’re going to be disappointed.”

 

It was best to go with the truthful approach; if there was one thing Byakuya appreciated it was honesty. If he lied now then he’d be no better than that damned fool Kurostuchi with his hollow words and constant lies, and he’d be no better than that traitor Aizen who had everyone’s minds twisted under a web of deceit. He wanted to be better than them, a true warrior and a true hero, he wanted to lead his troops into battle with a clear conscience and he wanted to die a man respected and admired. If he lied now he’d be a failure as a captain and a bastard for a lover.

 

“I won’t lie to you because I know that Hisana’s death will always hurt. You loved her, she died, that caused you pain – it’s tough shit, nothing you can do about it, but it’s because you can’t do nothing about it that it pisses you off, and so it should. There’s always going to be times when you miss her, so I won’t say ‘it’ll get better’ because this is as good as it’ll get.” He breathed deep and placed a chaste kiss on Byakuya’s neck, “As for me never leaving you? We’re Shinigami, Byakuya, we are born for battle, we live for battle and – for us lucky ones – we die in battle. The Winter War is coming, and although I’ll fight by your side against any Arrancar there’s a good chance one of us could die. I love you too much to make empty promises I can’t keep. What I’ll promise for you though is that I’ll never stop fighting, I’ll fight until the day I can’t fight anymore, and even if I have to show that pretty face of yours up on the battlefield I will, I’ll kill as many of our enemies as I can and hopefully I’ll do it by your side. I may leave you, but it’ll never be voluntarily. I swear it.”

 

The tears that flooded Byakuya’s face were bittersweet.

 

Even in the midst of crying he still appeared graceful, elegant and – above all else – beautiful. His head was turned to one side so that his long expanse of neck was on show to Zaraki, the long column perfect and flawless like an old Romantic painting, and his hair was so smooth, straight and sensual as it slid over pale skin, framing his perfect face with its high cheekbones and angular jaw. His cheeks were stained red like aging blood, with silver tear-trails running over them so that they seemed to stand out majestically, and his grey eyes seemed to almost swim in a salty ocean of their own.

 

It forced Zaraki to release his hold and gently trail his hand up along that smooth chest, wiping away those salty tears in a rare gesture of kindness, and at once Byakuya reacted. He turned his head slightly so as to look up at Zaraki with eyes wide with shock and appreciation, and his face so picture perfect it could have came out a magazine, an expression so calm and statuesque it made Zaraki swallow hard in desire. How was it the man could look both ravishing and broken all at the same time? It wasn’t possible, surely if someone was in tears like that with such a heartbroken expression then your response should be disgust, revulsion or – if you were like those pussies in Squad Four – sympathy? Yet Zaraki didn’t feel that way. It was like by cracking that mask, by allowing some true slither of emotion to seep through the cracks, that Byakuya was now a truly human, vulnerable and real person, that he was more approachable than ever before. Then to feel Byakuya pressing his face back, to nuzzle into his hand, it was more than he could bear. To feel the other displaying such open affection was mesmerising and almost erotic, it was something so intimate and sensual, something so out of character and yet so in character, a side of Byakuya that he’d show no one but Zaraki, only Zaraki.

 

“Thank you,” Byakuya whispered.

 

“If you’re so thankful then why are you crying, Kuchiki?”

 

“Because I believe that I may be in love with you,” Byakuya said with words so full of sadness his confession sounded more like words of condolence, “I am a Kuchiki and yet I am in love with the Demon of Squad Eleven. What will my clan say? What will my men think? I should hate you, despise you and even now I cannot deny that you are nothing but a commoner, so why is it that I seek your company and cherish the moments when we are together?”

 

“Heh, you make it sound like loving me is a curse.”

 

“ _It is_.” Byakuya said in a voice a bit to definite for Zaraki’s liking, “Yet I would not trade this feeling for any other. I may be a fool for allowing myself to have these emotions, but I feel that I love you. I think I am in love with you, Kenpachi.”

 

“Good, because I love you too.”

 

At those words he gently cupped Byakuya’s chin and lifted his face up on level with his own, then with one slow movement he locked his lips tenderly to his lover’s, relishing in the soft intimacy of the moment. Immediately he could feel his lover parting his soft, moist lips and allowing their kiss to deepen at once. He could feel the familiar hot, wet length of Byakuya’s tongue gliding into his mouth, tasting everything he had to offer, exploring inside him with gentleness and passion that he’d never before experienced from a lover. It was as if Byakuya was expressing through that one kiss all the love he felt in his heart, moving so slowly it was almost teasing and torturous, but pressing his mouth so hard against Zaraki’s it was almost as if he sought to consume his soul. It was loving, caring, graceful and everything that a kiss should be, nothing like he’d ever experienced, and even though that fiery passion of lust was absent Zaraki still wanted more, because never had he before experienced such an intense expression of desire.

 

He could feel himself hardening through his hakama, his member stirring itself awake as interest in his lover grew and, although the process of arousal was slow, the more Byakuya kissed him the more aroused he felt. The kiss seemed to be growing faster, needier by the moment, and each time they pulled away for even a second they would find themselves gasping loudly for breath, before reaching down again for that addictive taste of one another. His hands were already beginning to explore the vast expanse of Byakuya’s chest, stroking softly and lovingly over his flesh as if trying to comfort the man who stood with his back to him. Zaraki hoped to god that this was leading somewhere, because already his length was hard as hell, pressing firmly against his love’s buttocks, the only barrier that thick veil of his uniform.

 

With a sharp gasp he pulled away from Byakuya’s mouth and thrust hard against his partner, making it clear that although he loved him dearly that patience was hardly his virtue, but this was still more than sex. It was more than lust or the heat of the moment, it was about love and displaying affection and adoration, it was going to be what Byakuya called ‘making love’ and not just a quick fuck.

 

“Now that the sentimental crap’s out of the way,” He murmured, placing firm kisses to hollow of Byakuya’s neck, “How about we skip to the fun part?”

 

“Always the romantic . . .”

 

Zaraki grunted in amusement as he carried on despite the complaint.

 

He began to trail kisses along Byakuya’s neck, nipping occasionally before lathing the area with his tongue, slowly making his way up to his lover’s ear, teasing the spot just behind that he’d long ago discovered to be a secret erogenous zone for his partner. He always loved the little, high-pitched keening noises Byakuya would make as he gnawed carefully at the spot, leaving miniature love-bites and kisses all around it, and he loved how the other man would lean back into him, his right hand coming up to become entangled in his hair. The bells on his locks soon fell out to the floor, and his style was officially now somewhat less perfect than before, but what did it matter? He had the perfect body of Byakuya pressed against his, like two pieces of a puzzle, and those long fingers caressing his scalp as he massaged his lover’s neck with his tongue and lips.

 

His left hand slowly wormed itself away from Byakuya in order to reach his obi, gently pulling it open so that his hakama fell immediately to the floor, and with a few well-placed tugs his fundoshi joined alongside it. Now as he pressed his body firmly against his lover’s it seemed somewhat electrified, his skin was placed tightly on naked skin so that he could feel every inch of Byakuya from his feet to his head, and with his body now completely aroused his member was now fully nestled between the two firm, round globes of Byakuya’s buttocks. The feeling of pressure from either side, the heat from that enclosed flesh, and knowing he was just an inch or two from that waiting and pleasure-inducing hole caused him to groan loudly and buck against his lover. It was an electric sensation, one that sent waves of pleasure throughout his body, that caused his whole private region to throb and ache with desire, sending flames of arousal and need throughout him. He could already feel the ebb of pre-come leaking from his tip, and the rush of adrenaline as he moved against his lover.

 

Byakuya pressed back firmly against him as he began to bite at his neck, this time making sure his actions were forcefully enough to leave a mark, to leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that Byakuya belonged to him, that they belonged to each other. Already the noble was starting to moan, and as Zaraki’s hands began to trail in separate directions, his right up towards a pebbled nipple and his left down to an aching cock, those noises only grew louder and louder.

 

When those deft, strong fingers came to his nipple, and gently began to roll and twist, he couldn’t help but arch his back and grip harder upon Zaraki’s hair, pulling so tight he heard the gruff man grunt in pain. He could feel hard shivers coursing through him, seeds of pleasure taking root, causing him to writhe almost away from the touch, moaning low deep within his throat, bucking backwards against Zaraki so that both their bodies seemed to move and slip, positioning his lover directly below his waiting hole. It took all his self-control not to thrust down unprepared, and so he carefully moved himself away, just enough not to risk accidental penetration, but not enough so that Zaraki would lose his beloved friction between his lover’s cheeks. At this point his eyes were half-lidded, his pupils dilated in desire, and his vision clouded with passion. It was hard to see anything except the dizzying heights of passion he was being drawn to, those large and skilful hands on his body as Zaraki’s hot and heavy breath panted on his skin, and all in all it was too overwhelming to fully express, to fully appreciate.

 

It was then that Zaraki’s left hand reached down and grabbed firmly onto his cock, causing Byakuya to buck once more and let out a less than manly groan, his free hand coming up to clasp his lover’s neck for some support. Like always Kenpachi had amazing skill when it came to making Byakuya feel not only loved but desired, needed and appreciated. He could feel the love from the gentle, soft caresses and sensuous, careful touches, never too firm or forceful, but always just enough to make him feel pleasure at the same time it felt like his lover was exploring his body, marking each and every inch of him for memory, and relishing in a moment that felt like it could last forever. It was slow but passionate, careful but fulfilling, and as that hand stroked him slowly up and down, twisting on each upstroke, he felt chills of excitement and waves of ecstasy flooding his body. It was strange, but even after a month together and love-making that hand still felt foreign upon his skin, like he’d never felt it before and hadn’t come to expect it, and yet it felt so right! It was so perfect and so impossible to hold back the groans that escape his throat, loving the way Zaraki paid such perfect detail to every inch of him.

 

Byakuya grudgingly moved his hand away from his lover’s flesh to reach down into the bedside table, bending just slightly in order to pull open the drawer and remove a large bottle of lubricant.

 

The very item itself caused an intense blush to darken his already flushed cheeks. It indeed still embarrassed him to have to face the item even now, and having it beside his bed would be mortifying should anyone ever find out, but Zaraki had been the one to purchase it and had insisted it be kept in the bedroom at all times. The first time when they had used merely saliva some damage had been done, and Byakuya had ached all day the next day, and when lubricant was brought a while later it had been kept in the bathroom, which – according to Zaraki – ruined the mood when someone had to go and fetch it. Still, to have to reach into his own side-table and remove it himself, to even admit that he would be needing it, it was still rather embarrassing for him, even if there was no one there to see it other than his lover.

 

He jumped visibly and with a moan as Zaraki twisted upon his member and gave a flick to his nipple, sending waves of pleasure through him once more, but when that large hand moved to the bottle he swallowed hard, despite the fact he knew better than to show fear or emotion to a man like Zaraki. It seemed almost a weakness to him, even during the act of making love, to show such emotion, and it was terrifying to know that little by little Zaraki was breaking down those walls he had taken so long to build, making him show a part of himself he’d spent his whole life fearful to show.

 

He watched as Zaraki quickly coated two fingers and then moved his hand behind Byakuya, moving it briefly to his upper back to push him forwards. The gesture caused Byakuya to glare as it seemed so distant, so informal, but he gripped the edge of the table nonetheless and placed his trust in Zaraki. He loved the other man deeply, but to be taken from behind seemed so impersonal it caused him to tense at once; it was position he cared very little for. Yet he realised that with them standing perhaps Zaraki had purposely chosen not to let him turn around so as to make things easier, perhaps he’d done this so that he had something to hold onto, so that entry would be less painful, still he hated the idea of expressing their love this way . . .

 

“Huh, tense already?” Zaraki grunted, hand hovering over Byakuya’s buttocks, “Relax, I’m just going to prepare you, when I take you it ain’t going to be from behind, I know how much your prissy, little self hates it. So chill, okay?”

 

At that reassurance he relaxed at once, letting himself trust his lover completely and give his body to him. He hissed loudly in pleasure at the feeling of Zaraki’s fingertips circling his entrance, teasing his hole into gaping open without slipping inside, allowing him little slithers of pleasure that seemed to lead nowhere but promised so much. He wanted to see Kenpachi’s face, look him in the eyes and whisper words of love to him, but he trusted the man completely with his life, and he knew that if he promised to take Byakuya in another position – one that allowed eye contact – he would, his word was always good. Before he could think another thought he felt the first of those fingers entering him, slowly pushing its way inside and taking him by surprise.

 

Byakuya gasped loudly, throwing his head back as he arched his back, forcing himself downwards to grind against the invading digit. The feeling of another inside him, especially the man he had came to love dearly, was a sensation he’d always cherish and adore. It made him feel so connected to the other both spiritually and physically, and to feel his innermost area stroked, stretched and massaged by the thick, rough finger of Zaraki Kenpachi was a mind-blowing experience, one which he was sure plenty would be jealous of. Zaraki always knew exactly where to touch, how forcefully to be, what movements to make, and the act of preparation in itself could sometimes be just as amazing as the main act, the man appeared to be an expert and nothing he did seemed to be wrong in the slightest. His nerves felt alight, his body soft, pliant and susceptible to anything Zaraki wanted, and as he inserted another finger his body – now used to such acts – readily accepted it, relishing in the sensation as Zaraki began to scissor and stretch him. His fingertips occasionally brushed against his prostate, causing Byakuya to all but scream, forcing Zaraki to take a sharp hold of his member to stop him from coming too soon. When those fingers were removed there was a sharp sense of loss, one that left him gasping and panting with the pleasure that had been inflicted upon him.

 

Suddenly he found himself spun around and given such a loving, romantic kiss he was unaware that Zaraki was capable of, the kiss itself was full of such love and adoration he felt he could melt at the very sensation, his body turning limp in Zaraki’s hold, then – with a quick tug – he found himself pulled up onto the table, sitting upon its very edge as his lover came and stood directly in between his open legs . . .

 

The kiss continued, this time slowly and gently as Byakuya wrapped his legs around his lover’s waist and allowed his hands to rest upon firm shoulder blades, in return Zaraki’s own hands ran all over his body, sometimes teasing his nipples and at others massaging his own back in large, circular movements. He felt entirely consumed by his lover, as if they’d became one even before the main act had begun, and then slowly the kiss ceased and a hand came to rest in his long locks, another back upon his hot member, ready to begin stroking at a moment’s notice.

 

“You ready, Byakuya?”

 

“Of course,” He replied breathlessly.

 

The moment he gave his answer he could feel Kenpachi pressing against him, gently slipping inside him as if they had all the time in the world. It was certainly a stretch as only a minimal amount of lubrication and preparation had been done, but they made love so often that the pain was barely there, instead he felt nothing but a familiar sense of fullness, of oneness with the man he loved. It was an almost indescribable feeling, to feel his lover’s thick length rubbing against his inner walls, opening him in a place so private and personal, and to feel so exposed and yet somehow without that feeling of vulnerability that should come with it. He could do nothing but groan loudly and hold tightly onto Zaraki’s back, the older man grunting loudly as he finally fully sheathed himself inside of Byakuya. His member pulsing inside his lover as those inner walls fluttered around him, squeezing him and teasing him pleasurably. They paused for a brief minute, their eyes locking together, both hazed in lust and love, and suddenly Byakuya found himself consumed with another kiss, one that caused tears to sprinkle at his eyes.

 

It was nothing like it’d been with Hisana. Although he’d loved his wife very much he knew she never held that same love for him in return, and in retrospect he had perhaps idolised her more than he’d truly loved her. Zaraki however returned his feelings – albeit in his own brutish way – and his feelings for Zaraki were stronger than anything he’d ever felt. He loved how there was finally someone, other than perhaps Ichigo Kurosaki, who could simply call him ‘Byakuya’, who thought of him as an equal and as a friend, an ally and someone of worth. To be locked in both mind and body with someone he loved, and who loved him in return, was an experience like no other. He felt complete emotionally and physically, and the release and sense of security was too overwhelming to endure, it was impossible not to shed tears of happiness.

 

When Zaraki finally broke the kiss he pulled away to see the tears in Byakuya’s eyes and smiled, an expression so sincere and far from his usual grins that Byakuya found himself blushing despite his wishes not to, then – with an unusual act of kindness – Zaraki began to kiss away each of the tears on his lover’s face, before finally resting his head in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply a scent uniquely Byakuya.

 

It was then he started to move. He was slow at first, excruciatingly slow, pulling out little by little so that Byakuya could only moan at his loss and gasp loudly as slowly he was refilled, that long length pressing back in, brushing lightly against his prostate so that he instinctively used his legs around Zaraki’s waist to help thrust back against him. The pace was slow but hard, each movement forcing him to feel exactly what his lover wanted, and each movement always hitting the exact right spot. Zaraki’s breath ghosted his neck and ear, sometimes he’d blow lightly as he thrust inside causing hot gusts of breath to tease his ear, making him moan at the tingling sense of pleasure it caused him.

 

His body felt overwhelmed with heat, the pleasure that coursed through him made his skin burn like an inferno, a deep flush of crimson to cover his chest and body as he felt the beginnings of an orgasm to stir. Kenpachi’s body seemed to completely cover his own, and the feeling of heat emanating from the muscular man sent electric shivers down his spine, causing him to moan all the louder. It seemed that the slow, sensuous pace was more torturous than he’d imagined, expressing their love in such a way was almost painful for how good it felt, and already a thin sheen of sweat was breaking out over his body and upon Kenpachi’s. It made it hard to grip onto his lover, and in return he could feel himself starting to slide upon the top of the desk with each thrust, his buttocks soaked with sweat, pre-come and lubricant.

 

Yet despite just beginning their session of love-making it seemed Zaraki was already close to coming, because at once the speed had picked up enough that there was a soft sound of balls slapping against skin and the table had begun to rock. It was still moderately slow but it was fast enough to give them both the well-needed push into a mind-blowing orgasm, and hard enough to make the table bang hard against the wall, where he hoped very much his sister and servants were not occupying the room next door at that moment in time. He could feel Zaraki marking his neck with soft bites, complete with masculine grunts and panted breath, and his own inner walls were fluttering around his hard shaft in an almost continuous pace, and his own vision was already becoming hazy with bliss. He was close, very close . . .

 

“Kenpachi,” He gasped, pecking soft kisses onto any part of Zaraki’s neck he could reach, “Kenpachi!”

 

Suddenly the hand on his member seemed to pump harder and faster than before, his partner thrusting inside him almost erratically and before Byakuya knew it he was coming hard and fast.

 

He threw his head back, baring his throat fully to his lover, a thick covering of sweat coating his skin as he swallowed audibly, mouth wide open as he practically screamed aloud. His hands clutched tight enough into Zaraki’s skin to leave bruises, and his legs pulled the man so deep inside him his prostate was stroked one last time as he came, making his orgasm all the more powerful. He could feel his own hot seed covering his stomach, long ropes of it coating his skin as if it would go on forever, and his body seemed overtaken with a feeling of complete bliss, as if he’d reached the peak of nirvana itself. Inside him he could feel a hot blast of liquid and heat, and as his own member softened he heard Zaraki give a primal groan and pull out of him, his own member of equal state.

 

Byakuya was tempted to collapse back against the wall, but he needed the touch of his lover and the feeling of closeness, and so he fell forward and wrapped his arms around Zaraki, relishing the heat from the other’s body and the smell of exertion and sex. He barely even noticed as his body was lifted from the tabletop and placed lovingly in the bed, with the same respect and love one may give a sleeping child or an injured maiden, and yet what surprised Byakuya was he didn’t feel a sense of annoyance at being treated as a fragile object, instead he felt a sense of peace and gratitude, a sense that his lover respected him so deeply. When Zaraki crawled in beside him he instinctively moved closer, curling up against Zaraki in a way that was certainly not how a Kuchiki should act, showing far more affection than he should, and yet he felt so content and peaceful he could not regret his decision to display such affection.

 

After a few minutes he felt strong hands stroking his hair, pulling lightly on his raven locks to disentangle unseen knots and smooth out his features, it was such a rhythmic movement and the afterglow was so strong that he could feel himself falling into a peaceful sleep. It was far beyond what was expected of a Kuchiki, and to let himself fall into a slumber and let down his guard around a commoner was ridiculously foolish, and yet for some reason he could not help it. He trusted Zaraki. He could not fully understand why, but he did. He trusted him.

 

“I think it’s about time I left,” Zaraki murmured, nestling his face into the top of Byakuya’s head, enjoying the moment of intimacy, “If I stay any longer people will get suspicious, can’t have them gossiping about the beloved Kuchiki clan, can we?”

 

Byakuya frowned at the obvious display of sarcasm. It typically signified a low wit and someone with enough resentment of an issue to make it clear via humour, but not enough backbone to make clear their frustration and discuss it in a mature manner. However Byakuya was far from being a slow-witted man, he could clearly see the source of Zaraki’s frustration and anger: the older man wanted to make public their relationship, he felt slighted for having to keep things secret, as if he were not good enough for Byakuya. It was true his status was far lower than his lover’s, but as far as Byakuya was concerned he had long ago proven himself an equal to any Kuchiki, and someone worthy of his love . . .

 

“Let them say what they wish, Kenpachi.”

 

“Oh? And what happens when they work out we’re an item? What happens when darling baby sister or wonderful grandfather find out their precious family member’s dating scum like me? People talk.”

 

“Then let them,” Byakuya said through a tense breath, “I have nothing to hide about my affairs, particularly ones I wish to make long-term. If people wish to talk then let them.”

 

“Byakuya?”

 

He gave a warm smile and tilted his head to reach Kenpachi’s lips, drawing the man into a deep and sensual kiss, one that expressed the depths of his emotions. When he pulled away he looked deeply into his partner’s eyes, making sure not to break eye contact: “Let them.”


	5. Chapter Five

# Chapter Four

 

Ikkaku was always stereotyped as being a ‘typical’ Squad Eleven member.

 

He was the kind to enjoy a good bottle of sake, the type to live for the thrill of a fight, and the sort to rather nap than do a speck of paperwork. Life for Madarame Ikkaku was simple and that’s the way he enjoyed it. He would wake up in the morning and train the recruits and do his duties, slack off in the afternoon either drinking with Tetsuzaemon or wandering around Seireitei with Yumichika, and then in the evening he’d go drinking with the guys or lie in the light of the moon and watch the stars go by.

 

Who could ask for more? No one in their right mind wanted stress, pain, panic, work, no one woke up each morning with the happy thought of paperwork or administration lightening their mood, and no one ever wanted to be treated like a mule or a gopher, carting around messages or running errands like a Squad Four wimp. People craved fun. It was human nature! People loved to drown their problems in alcohol, start a fight to relieve stress, joke around with friends to get a buzz and bask in the afterglow of sex for a new high. Could anyone blame Ikkaku for being one of the guys, for simply being human? He didn’t want stress or fuss, he just wanted fun and relaxation, to live life to its fullest and be as strong as he could be! So what if that made him into some sort of macho stereotype, as far as he was concerned he was just a guy who had his priorities straight and knew how to have fun. He wanted his men to look up to him, like he looked up to Zaraki-Taichou, he wanted them to come to him for advice and tips, to say ‘what a great guy’, the last thing he wanted was to be a guy like Kuchiki-Taichou or Hitsugaya-Taichou. He just wanted to be . . . free! He had a great life, one he enjoyed living, and he wasn’t going to complain, no way.

 

What right had he to complain anyways? It was guys like Yumichika who had it rough, working away so much that the captain had to actually command them to take a break, even admitting to other squads that the guy had nothing better to do. Captain never took an interest in his squad members, not a real interest anyway, of course he and Yumichika were exceptions but even then his interest was limited, so to make Zaraki-Taichou stop and take note just went to show you how much of a workaholic the guy really was. Ikkaku didn’t want to be like that. He’d never wanted to be the one that people pitied, that they worried about, that they looked down on. He wanted to be strong, fun, and lively! To be that way he needed to train hard and play hard, he needed to carry on with his current life philosophy handed to him by Zaraki-Taichou, and he needed to ignore all petty, little matters to focus on the things that were important, things like becoming one of the strongest men in Seireitei and making his captain smile with pride!

 

It might have been that very focus that made him somewhat _blind_ to the things around him. Of course ‘blind’ wasn’t an adjective he’d willingly use to describe himself, after all he had the personal insight to achieve bankai, the observant eye of a sensei to teach Renji and the keen perception needed in the heat of a battle to take out an opponent. It just seemed that his lover – and sometimes his captain and friends – didn’t think of things the same way he did. If he had to guess he’d have said they were just jealous, focussing on small, silly issues and choosing to forget all his better qualities, probably because they weren’t capable of such great feats themselves! Still, out of the charges laid currently against him the one that irked him most was that he was blind to the needs and emotions of his lover, Ayasegawa Yumichika. It seemed that those around him felt that on his list of priorities that Yumichika was second to the love of a fight, and perhaps – according to some – lower on the list than his love of sake, duelling and training.

 

Blind. Huh! He wasn’t blind, nor was he stupid, and nor did he put Yumichika last on his list! People just didn’t understand, sure he loved to fight and battle, sure he relished in those life-or-death moments, but was he really putting that first? Really? Like hell! When they’d met the Ryoka he’d certainly -! Well, he’d stayed behind to take out Ichigo and let Yumichika go on ahead . . . but his comrade had wanted it that way, loving to fight just as much as he did and finally having an opponent of his own to face. That was fair of him, right? Okay, well, when it came down to the Arrancar fight against Edrad -! Well, that was a bit of a blur but considering he remembered something vague about Yumichika arranging his funeral . . . Fine, but when he was defending the pillar against Poww he definitely put his lover first, because -! Whatever. Time to just forget it. It’s not like he had anything to prove really anyway, after all those were pathetic and stupid examples, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t think of any good examples, it was just that he didn’t have the time or effort to sit around conjuring images to prove his point . . . Where was the sake when you needed it?

 

He didn’t want to admit it but – if he actually spent a few minutes seriously pondering the matter – he’d have to say that people had a point: he _did_ put his love for fighting before his lover.

 

He remembered laughing at Yumichika’s hair after his fight with Ganju, knowing how seriously Yumi took his looks and - . . . and he didn’t care, he’d just laughed, finding it just so funny! It was such a knock on his lover’s ego, actually hurting Yumichika and making him paranoid for a while, making him fuss and preen and prance in the mirror more than usual, hating more than ever to get his hair in the slightest mess lest Ikkaku laugh like that again. It had been kind of cruel of him to be honest, but then again surely Yumichika needed to learn to get a joke, to see the lighter side of things? What kind of man took life so seriously? Jeez, they could die any minute, at any moment! They should be enjoying life, not stressing over how they looked, life was much too short after all. If anything _he_ should be mad at _Yumi_ for being so superficial and shallow! Hell, at least he had hair to be worried about, what about Ikkaku, he had none! Yet that wasn’t the only time he’d forgotten to put his lover first, was it? He could still hear Yumichika’s cold, emotionless tone in his head asking for funeral arrangements, he could sense the fear and pain from his friend, the complete grief and heartbroken feelings as he tried so hard to gain composure and stay resolute, knowing nothing could be done to change the events, knowing he had to accept things because to interfere would be to risk Ikkaku’s anger and maybe hatred . . . but that wasn’t what Ikkaku had remembered of that day. Sure he’d acknowledged his lover’s hurt and felt hurt in return, but what he remembered most was the huge rush of adrenaline, the way his mouth watered in anticipation and how his heart beat a hundred miles an hour, eager to win an ever-losing match . . .

 

Was it really so cold? Was it really putting the fight first to remember nothing but the fun and excitement he felt whilst Yumichika was breaking inside, scared half to death over losing his longest friend and closest ally, unable to show a thread of emotion as his first priority and duty was to protect Keigo and the town? Ikkaku wasn’t sure at this point. His own heart felt torn in two. Sure he felt bad for Yumi, no one really deserved to feel that way or experience such heartache, but at the same time the fight had really pushed him to his limits and taught him new skills! It had been fierce, fun, fantastic and by God the rush he’d gotten had been better than any drug or drink imaginable!

 

He loved the feeling of his limbs itching to move, his mind almost in another place as he found a focus so rare, seconds morphing into hours as time itself became lost in a moment, his sole passion and reason for existence the moment in itself. The feeling of his eyes almost aching in intensity, his senses heightened to a maximum not quite expressible in words, his throat aching for the breaths he took and heart almost bursting with so many beats -! It was all too much, yet not enough. He longed for it again, felt nostalgic over the past moment, and realised for a split second that he’d have done it all over again if given the chance, because to pass on a fight like that would be insanity at its best. It was good, it was great, it was like that moment during sex right before the climax, that moment when you can hear your heartbeat and fear it could be your last, hearing it loud as a drum in your ears as your body is coated with sweat, dripping so much and staining what little clothing you wear, and yet you don’t care! All you care about is that feeling of bliss, of excitement, of utmost pleasure and knowing you have such control that this moment it truly yours, something you can own and manipulate all before it explodes, ending in a brilliant burst of light where there is no winner, and there is no winner as you both have won that thrill and sheer ecstasy of testing your skills! If only Yumichika could feel it that way, feel the sheer intimacy of two warriors pushing each other to the limits, that physical push and the way two minds became as one, how you anticipated each others moments and reacted to those moments, your minds both locked in that same moment, both craving and desiring the same thing, both working to resolution, both spiritually and physically connected almost as one! Perfection!

 

Yumichika was a member of Squad Eleven, a member of the strongest and most powerful squad in the whole of Seireitei, a man who belonged to the elite! Why couldn’t he understand it? Why couldn’t he just accept the part of Ikkaku that lived for the thrill instead of chastising him for it? If anything he should understand better than anyone! He should be the first person to whom the passion of fighting made sense! He was one of them; he was a comrade and one of the team, so why couldn’t he get it? What would it take to make him see it from Ikkaku’s view?

 

The stupidest thing, of course, hadn’t been this recent, little rift between himself and Yumi, but something that Abarai Renji had said: ‘Ya ever think that maybe he’s just as passionate as you, but that his passion lies elsewhere? I mean Kira had to knock him out to stop him getting to ya, Ikkaku. Kira! Man, I couldn’t believe it when they told me, ya know?’

 

When he thought about it everyone had different passions and ambitions in life; Zaraki-Taichou had his fights, that Kuchiki girl her little rabbit obsession, Kurostuchi his weird experiments and Kyoraku-Taichou the women . . . Everyone knew that Yumichika had an obsession with his looks, pretty much universally known as the ‘gay narcissist’, perhaps working a lot harder to stereotype those of his sexuality than Ikkaku ever could for the men of Squad Eleven, yet what if Renji was right? What if Yumi’s true passion lay elsewhere, what if it was Ikkaku?

 

Sometimes he forgot his lover was only a fifth-seat, after all he was colourful and beautiful, intelligent and carefree, hard-working and dependable, he was the guy who you knew would get the work done and the guy who could hand you your ass in battle. He was everything a lieutenant should be and equal in strength to anyone of the rank of lieutenant, perhaps even stronger than some. It was why when he heard the story of Yumi fighting to hell and back to get to him he hadn’t thought twice, why should he? It wasn’t until it was pointed out he’d disobeyed direct orders from Hisagi-Fukutaichou and was forced to be disciplined by Kira that he’d clicked, realising just to what extent his lover had been willing to go to get to him, just what rules he’d been willing to break to save him. It was as if his love, passion and loyalty to Ikkaku had made him forget his duty, forget his rank, and forget even the philosophy of his squad! It was as if in that moment nothing and no one meant more than Ikkaku, as if Ikkaku had became his reason for breathing and his reason for living, as if Ikkaku’s seemingly inevitable death meant the death of Yumichika too. The absolute fear in his lover, his hysterical nature and how panic-stricken he’d become . . . was Ikkaku really that much to him? If he was then maybe that was why his comrades saw Ikkaku as someone cruel, as someone who thought less of his own lover than the heat of battle, because no matter how hard Yumi expressed his lover he never paid note, never gave him the credit or acknowledgment that any other friend would. Yumichika seemed to have some inexpressible devotion to him, something so strong that the word ‘love’ seemed to fail in definition, something so strong that ‘love’ no longer held a meaning, and all Ikkaku ever did was shrug it off to head into battle. He’d always do his lucky dance for an opponent, but when had he ever done it for Yumi? Had he ever expressed just how lucky was to have Yumi? What, not once? Not ever? Damn it.

 

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Yumichika. He did. He remember every moment they shared in the Rukongai; he remembered everything about his lover down to the last detail. He could remember Yumi’s slightly longer hair, how it’s been shoulder length with bangs longer than the rest, how soft and silky it had always felt despite how they could rarely afford to have a hairdresser see or style it, and he remembered the way it’d feel trailing over his body as his partner kissed a path down his chest and abdomen. He remembered those bright, colourful kimonos his partner would wear, always so vibrant to express his full personality, always so colourful as if to draw attention, as if to say ‘I’m perfect, what else would you want your eyes drawn to?’ He loved the way the soft fabric felt on his skin, how easy it was to pull open the obi sash and expose his love, how the material would rustle as it hung off Yumi’s arms as they made frantic love in a back alley, hidden from sight. Most of all he remembered how Yumichika always seemed to wear a permanent smile, a slight smirk that would tug at one corner of his mouth, as if to express a mixture of comfort and superiority, as if expressing a sense of happiness and contentment alien to many and most in such a grimy, poor district. The one thing that he’d always remember – seared onto his memory – was the way that his lover panicked when he’d fought Zaraki-Taichou, worried even if he tried so hard to hide it. Even then he’d loved Ikkaku enough to express obvious emotion, to care about his safety and well being . . .

 

He really did love Yumichika . . . So what if he loved fighting more? Did a musician give up his music, a painter give up his paints, a writer give up his pen, all for the name of love and passion? No! They let it inspire them! They found a muse in their loved ones, a reason to play, paint and write, a reason to exist and express themselves, a reason to perform the arts that were so essential to their souls! Surely that was the way it was with him and fighting? Yumichika was his muse, his reason to live and his reason to win; Yumichika was the prize at the end and the thing to focus on, the thing to inspire him to great heights and to perfect his strength and talents! Surely his lover should feel honoured, proud of the fact he could inspire such strength in a man so powerful, great and warrior-like? That was Yumichika’s problem; the guy just couldn’t see the wood for the trees! Idiot. That’s what he was, an idiot! Sure he could be smart and brave, but ultimately he was an idiot, because – quite frankly – what normal person didn’t love a decent match or sparring session? Hell, even Yachiru loved physical tests of strength, and she was just a little girl! What, was Yumi less of a man than a little girl? Huh, the guy really needed to learn some things from life, and if he had to learn them from Yachiru that was just sad.

 

Still, he didn’t understand . . . _He just didn’t understand it at all_! If Yumichika loved him that much, truly as much as he claimed and made out, then why – _why_ – had he done what he’d done? Why had he contradicted himself in such a way that it was as if Ikkaku was no longer his priority, as if he’d become secondary in Yumichika’s life, something inferior to and a substitute for his real passion, joy and love? Why had he done what he’d done?

 

Everyone always sided with Yumichika. It was always sympathy for how he had to put up with Ikkaku’s dangerous behaviour, or sympathy for how he was the one made to do all of the squad’s paperwork, or sympathy that he’d been called ‘middle-aged’ by a kid or how his hair was made a mess by a Ryoka, knowing that all he cared about was his looks. No one ever saw a true bad side to Yumichika, not outside of the superficial things such as vanity, narcissism and fear of abandonment, no one ever got to know him well enough to see that deeper, darker side of him. No one knew how Yumichika had claimed in their last argument – in an obvious and pathetic lie – to have a kido-based Zanpakuto, or how he’d been willing to trick that creepy and stalker-like sister of Keigo’s with sneaky manipulation, forcing Ikkaku to don a wig just to shut her up. He could lie like the best of them and manipulate the rest of them, he wasn’t the perfect angel people assumed, in fact he was more like a demon, a dark and dangerous spirit . . . a succubus! He was a succubus – or an incubus, whatever the word was – a spirit so freaking beautiful all would succumb to it, but secretly evil and nasty and would steal your soul in a heartbeat! Yeah, that’s what Yumichika was . . . because – let’s face it – what guy who truly claimed to love Ikkaku would do what he’d done, and then just shrug it off afterwards? Who’d do that? Yumichika, that was who . . . bastard . . .

 

Ikkaku sighed deeply and lay back against the rough bark of the tree.

 

The breeze felt particularly cool today, its gentle touch caressing his face much like that of a lover, something so soft it was barely there but something so potent it could rouse you out of any slumber and bring you back to the world of the living. There was a scent of persimmon in the air, making him aware he’d – at some point – wandered into Squad Three’s gardens, and somehow even managed to get lost inside them, finding nothing but more and more of those idiotic fruit trees that the defected, captain-before-last had planted about the place. His left hand was balanced on his sake bottle, occasionally he’d tilt it as if to check its contents, and then moan when he could feel it was completely empty, then moan even more when his head would throb at the sound of the first moan, reminding him that even he was subject to hangovers and the pains of drinking binges. His legs were sprawled out on the grass, his feet – free of tabi – could feel the dew-damp grass beneath, enjoying the feel of nature so close against his flesh, something unchanging and stable, something that would never change or betray him. It was overall a beautiful day, a day that anyone could enjoy and endure, and yet -? His heart couldn’t find any beauty in it at all. To him the world was nothing but a cold place, a place where beauty hid nothing but deception, and where you couldn’t trust anyone, where you’d be stabbed in the back the first chance where it could occur. The world didn’t care about him, why would nature? Damn them. Damn it.

 

“Ikkaku? What are you doing here? I thought you despised Squad Three?”

 

Oh God, that voice. Why – of all times – did he have to hear that voice now? Granted the owner seemed cheerful enough, always with a singsong tone to his voice and an airy kind of accent, something bright and rarely dark, something that always seemed to speak of beauty and enunciated every word with proper precision. There was a slight hint of worry, a lilting kind of tone that went up and down, an indication of very mild panic. Usually he loved that voice, along with everything else about Yumichika, but today the very sound grated on his nerves, digging into his flesh with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, ripping painfully into him as if to reopen last night’s wounds.

 

He loved Yumichika, but it was true he loved fighting more, yet it felt right now that the pain he felt at Yumichika’s betrayal was greater than anything he would feel if the art of fighting were to be taken away from him. Did that mean he actually loved Yumi more? Is that what it meant when his heart felt like it was being ripped out by the sound of his very voice alone? If that was what it meant that he didn’t want to feel love, he wanted his fights but he didn’t want this love, because this love meant the pain of being deceived, of being second-best, of being nothing but a lowly substitute. No, he didn’t want this love; he didn’t want it at all. It hurt too much.

 

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?”

 

Ikkaku shrugged, seemingly to no one in particular, then lifted his sake bottle and drowned what amounted to a little more than a few stray drops. Still, it was a comfort at least, but without Tetsuzaemon here there was no one else to go get more, well it could be worse at least, after all he managed to get a few drops out of it, better than nothing, wasn’t it?

 

“Ikkaku, I am talking to you. Can’t you hear me say your name?”

 

“No, I can’t Yumi, and that’s the problem.”

 

It was at that point that Yumichika walked into Ikkaku’s line of sight. His long, lithe arms were folded gracefully over his toned chest, marking him in that one gesture with an air of annoyance and exasperation. His usually pale, flawless complexion was marked with a slight pink tinge, indicating he’d been searching for Ikkaku for a while now, and his eyes were half-lidded in a mixture of both worry and compassion, indicating a sad relief in finding his lover unharmed but a pain in knowing something ate upon his soul. He wore his uniform as always, his shihakusho lying on his skin perfectly, clinging to just the right areas and hanging in others so as to tempt one with the curious thought of what lay underneath, and his orange accessories stood bright and bold as always, forcing one’s attention upon him. He was beautiful as always, always so beautiful, and yet the picture of innocence, almost as if he was the victim and not Ikkaku, almost as if he truly didn’t know what this was about. Impossible!

 

Ikkaku sighed and pulled his body up so that he could sit cross-legged, his left hand dragging the sake bottle in front of him as if to keep a watch on it, to make sure it wasn’t going anywhere. It didn’t matter much being as empty as it was, but it was somewhat of a relief and reassurance to have something so constant in his life so close to him. No matter what happened to him he’d always have sake, he’d always have that delicious nectar to keep him company, and no damned bastard in the world would take it from him! Not one! The world could let him down, screw him over, but they’d always be one more sake bottle, one more drop to fill his glass and make the pain go away, and the drunkenness did wonders for memory, always helping one to forget exactly what they needed to forget, and allowing them to remember only what they needed to remember. A perfect remedy, a solution like none other, a true medicine for the soul! Perfection at its best!

 

“How much have you had to drink, Ikkaku?” Yumichika snapped angrily, brushing a lock of his violet hair away from his face with the back of his hand, “Such ugly behaviour is unbecoming of you and will not do. I suggest to you that you sober up right away, Captain will be furious if he knows you’ve been drinking whilst the rest of us have been training. Aizen will not wait for the likes of you, we must all train whilst we can, and that means leaving the drinking sessions for more appropriate times.”

 

“Relax, will you? We all need a drink or two at times.”

 

“I believe this is much more than ‘a drink or two’.” Yumi covered his nose and mouth discretely with his hand; it was somehow a graceful action despite being so vulgar in function. “If anything this would consist of ‘a bottle or two’. You smell terribly of alcohol, it is a most disgusting odour. I suggest you bathe if you wish to touch me this evening, Ikkaku.”

 

“Oh, so now you remember my name.”

 

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

Ikkaku let out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. It was an instinctive response, a sign of dismissal and frustration, a release of a feeling that was both at once exasperating and amusing.

 

It was a hard feeling to pin down and describe, especially for a man like Ikkaku for a man for which emotions were merely things that held you down, that prevented that final killing blow or made you hesitate long enough to take a hit. Sure, he wasn’t stupid, he knew he experienced emotions as much as anybody, but that didn’t mean he wanted to sit down and analyse his feelings like some Squad Four wimp! He was a man who lived off instinct, a man who preferred that the depths of his feelings stick to the basics such as hunger, tiredness, lust and –  . . . well, that was about it. The times when he felt happy were great; nothing could be better than to be caught in a lucky moment that hopefully led to battle and – preferably – victory! It was just the times when he was forced to feel down that sucked . . . Not to get him wrong, there weren’t many times when he felt serious, reflective or mournful, but when he did get those feelings his first instinct was to make them go away. He hated them. It was just -  . . . the thing was what was he meant to do when it was _Yumichika_ causing those feelings? Usually he’d talk things out with the guy when he felt crappy, but it wasn’t possible to have a heart-to-heart with a guy when it felt like that guy was stabbing you _in_ said heart. In fact it kind of made him feel alone, isolated, like he was the only guy in the world, because now he had no one to turn to, not unless he wanted a fight and with the way he was feeling that was a bad idea, it would only lead to Unohana-Taichou bitching that there were too many recruits needing medical assistance, which was not what he needed right now.

 

There was anger stemming from his feeling of betrayal, a sense of his entire world being tilted upside-down, as if everything he’d ever known had fallen from its allocated place. Ever since their time in Rukongai it’d just been the two of them, two friends and confidantes trusting one another with their lives, two lovers locked together against all potential threats. It’d been hell when they had missions apart but somehow it had never broken or hurt their relationship, only strengthened it, reminding the other how much they missed the one they loved, just how fragile life was, and how that – no matter what – something would pull them back together. Now it seemed like none of that mattered, as if it was just some sort of dream, a nice floating feeling to experience before a harsh awakening, where he’d found out none of it had been real.

 

What was worse was he’d always lived for fights and fighting, it was his first and only love, his passion and what he lived for! So why the hell was he getting so worked up over Yumi? Didn’t the others always go on about how Yumi was second best to him, some sort of runner-up to his real love? What a load of crap! If it were true then he wouldn’t feel so broken up right now, he wouldn’t feel so – so – so goddamned awful! What did they know? Nothing. He almost wanted to be a bit more like Renji or Kira or that Hinamori girl, then he’d be able to know what it was he felt and do something about it! Then again, if he had to spend even a day in any of their shoes he’d probably hang himself, after all if they were examples of what it meant to be sensitive and emotional - . . . Maybe it was better just to not have emotions at all, that way he could be a killing machine, just fight all day and not have any bother about crap like this! Yeah, that would be some dream. Then again, didn’t that have a downside too? Hell, he’d seen the way Kurostuchi’s daughter got treated and she was the most emotionless Shinigami he’d seen. Damn it, was there any happy medium? Because right now he was in the middle between emotionless and emotional, and he felt like crap, and his other options were hardly any better either. He blamed this on Yumichika; it all his entire fault, all of it, all of it, all of it!

 

“Damn it, Ikkaku! You’ve had far too much to drink! I despise it when you enter one of these moods, it seems like the only people who can ever deal with you are Tetsuzaemon-Fukutaichou and Captain!”

 

Ikkaku smiled half to himself and tilted his head back, gazing lazily at the treetops above him, watching the almost serene way they moved overhead against the hardening breeze, moving to some unheard melody that only nature was privy to, each branch swaying in time with the other. He wasn’t really one for aesthetics and beauty, but even he had to admit it was a pretty nice distraction.

 

“Of for goodness sake!” Yumichika snapped, “If all you are going to do is mope then I shall return to barracks, I have far better things to do with my precious time than to baby-sit a drunk! If you won’t tell me what is the matter then don’t! I may even -!”

 

“You called out another guy’s name.”

 

That certainly shut him up . . .

 

At first his lover’s mouth had opened wide with a little gasped sound, almost as if he had chosen to say something but had cut himself off before the words could escape, and then his lips shut tight so that they became nothing but a tense, narrow line. His arms were folded across his chest again, but this time it seemed more a gesture of protection than one of assertion, almost as if he was hugging himself for comfort, trying to pull himself away from Ikkaku’s harsh accusation. It was actually a rather ‘beautiful’ gesture as Yumi would put it, something that was graceful and flattering but also seemed to show his vulnerable side, revealing a humanity and warmth that he rarely let show, but at the same time – with his back straight, posture perfect – he seemed powerful, strong and in control.

 

It was a strange but perfect mixture of strength and weakness, something no one else in the world could ever pull off, and the sight of his lover in such a position made him instinctively want to reach out to him, hold him, console him. He wanted to make Yumi feel like his usual self, bring back that arrogant smile and see him strut about without a care in the world, occasionally fixing his hair as if nothing else mattered. Yet he was supposed to hate Yumi right now! He was supposed to be angry and mad, maybe even fight him, so how was it that instead the sight of that now stark white face, narrowed eyes, and downcast expression brought about a sense of pity and guilt, making him want to do nothing but take back his words? He hated seeing Yumi gaze off to his side, looking at the floor with a slight pained expression, wincing around his nose and eyes just ever so slightly. He hated the way Yumi, although beauty, seemed only a fraction of his usual self, and most of all he hated himself for bring the matter up this way, not maturely in the privacy of their own room. Still, he had a right to be angry, right? He had a right to be pissed, a right to bring the matter up, a right to say something! Damn it; how the hell did Yumi always make him feel like these things were his fault? The guy was a demon. He had to be.

 

“I most certainly did not,” Yumi replied softly, sadly, speaking as if to no one, speaking as if unsure of his own words, “I would remember if I had ever said the wrong name in bed, I am certain of it.”

 

“Well you weren’t awake,” He mumbled, “You were asleep at the time.”

 

“Oh, well it’s obvious then! If I was asleep it could have been anything, Ikkaku, I may have been yelling out a name in the heat of battle, or merely talking to another person, after all my subconscious mind is not limited in people to just you, I do have other friends and colleagues too.”

 

“Ha! You think I don’t know the difference! How stupid do you think I am, Yumi?”

 

He watched Yumi flick his hair in a rather petulant, teenage-girl kind of way with a slight ‘humph’ in his voice that he probably assumed Ikkaku wouldn’t hear, his eyes half-lidded in what looked like contempt as he bared his neck in his attempt to look away, without moving his body in the slightest. Credit where it was due, Ayasegawa Yumichika was the only person who could look like a sulking, spoilt bitch and still look incredibly hot and doable. He wasn’t entirely sure it was a quality he wanted in a boyfriend, but it certainly wasn’t one he disliked, after all no one could be against the vision of hotness that stood before him right then, even if they were the type of scumbag who could dream about someone else and scream out their name.

 

“I think you are being _quite_ stupid,” His lover continued, “Captain Zaraki must have hit you one too many times on the head in battle, after all how could you possibly know what kind of dreams I have? Besides, it isn’t as if I can control my dreams, is it? I’ve heard you mumble other people’s name several times, however I am secure enough in my beauty, talents and personality to realise that it doesn’t mean anything.”

 

“Oh, so now I ain’t secure in myself?”

 

“Most certainly not! Not if you can believe I would have a dream about another man, and that it would mean something!”

 

“Yeah? So when you – in the middle of the night – start humping my leg like some dog in heat, moaning like a total whore, that isn’t some sort of totally hot sex dream? Oh yeah, I can see that it’s obviously innocent when you’re hands are all over me and you’re mumbling ‘ah, just there, lick just –!’”

 

“Stop it, Ikkaku.”

 

“Not that I’d mind, I mean like you said we all have those dreams, don’t we? There’s some men and women that everyone dream about too, I mean I don’t know many Shinigami that haven’t fantasised about Matsumoto at some point, but you didn’t scream out any of the usual names, did you?”

 

“Ikkaku, I don’t think -.”

 

“No, you went and screamed out ‘Hisagi! Hisagi! Oh Shuhei!’”

 

He knew he’d won the argument when he’d seen the look on Yumichika’s face. His boyfriend it seemed knew exactly what he was referring to, remembering the dream in a sudden flash of realisation that was impossible to hide from his expression. His face was white as the reflection of the moon, his eyes wide with horror and his lips parted just slightly – ever so slightly – just enough to express his shock, just enough to allow him air without an ‘ugly’ audible gasp for air. Most of all his arms had fallen from his chest to a kind of levitated action just below his waist, hovering in midair as if unable to choose whether to fall or rise, pulled up by an unseen force whilst being forced down with the weight of the burden he was forced to bear. His shoulders has fallen by a degree so small it was hardly noticeable, but the slight sag was noticeable to anyone who knew Yumichika, because anyone who knew him would know that even the slightest relaxation in his features meant a lack of ‘beauty’ to him, marking him as being in a fit of emotion so extreme beauty – for a rare moment – became unimportant to him, secondary to whatever he felt at that fearful moment.

 

He should have been happy to see his lover in such a state. It meant he’d won the argument, that he’d beaten his lover in a battle even if said battle didn’t include fights of fists, blood or swords. Any victory was always a good victory, because with it came the sense of superiority one always felt in the heat of the moment, that sense of ‘I won, I’m better than you’ that fills one with pride and joy, a sense of worth and meaning that hardly anything else can ever bring. It meant he’d been right, he’d gotten one over on Yumichika, that he could feel that content at being victorious, and yet -! He didn’t _feel_ victorious at all. No, he felt kind of dejected, broken, like a puppet who’d just had its strings cut, an empty being without any real reason to exist, something that could only lie there knowing all it’d lived for had been taken away in one brutal movement. It hurt him like a knife to see his lover in such pain, but even worse it hurt him knowing that his lover could call out another man’s name and not deny it, not even have an excuse or reason! It was a betrayal! It was abandonment! It was the man he’d loved, after all this time, growing bored of him and fantasising about someone else, screaming out someone else’s name, _wanting_ someone else! He wanted to hurt Yumichika, fight him and hurt him, make him bleed and hurt so that he would know just what hurt that he was feeling, and at the same time he wanted to run, to hide, to escape such feelings because he knew there was no way he could ever hurt Yumi, he just couldn’t! No matter what he’d always love Yumi, always.

 

After a few long moments Yumi visibly sagged and took a few steps closer to Ikkaku, stepping beside him before falling gracefully upon the soft ground, folding his legs underneath him in a rather feminine manner. His long, lithe fingers clasped one another in a way that for some reason reminded him of nobility, his hands resting gently on his lap in an unmoving way, holding one another as if seeking comfort that he would surely not receive from Ikkaku. His violet locks blew slightly in the breeze and his eyes were cast on the floor, unable to make contact with Ikkaku, unable to look him in the eye and address the matter full on. Was he guilty? Was he about to apologise? Maybe he felt he’d done nothing wrong, or maybe he had a very good reason, maybe – just maybe – Ikkaku would be able to forgive him, go back to loving him and forget it had ever happened . . . just maybe.

 

“It isn’t what you think, Ikkaku,” Yumichika whispered softly, “I won’t deny that I am mildly attracted to him, but it isn’t romantic at all I can promise you, in fact if left long enough with him I’d be very much inclined to fight him. My dream was no different from the ones you sometimes find yourself having, no different to you dreaming about Matsumoto-san or Zaraki-Taichou.”

 

Ikkaku found himself blushing, despite his every attempt not to. Granted it was far from being a manly expression but it was instinct, a natural reflex that he couldn’t help, and therefore there was no way it could reflect on his masculinity! If it was someone like Kira or Yumi then maybe it would be girly or pathetic, but on Ikkaku it was merely a natural reaction to a naturally shocking statement. He was not embarrassed, he was merely enraged – that was it! – he was enraged and thus flushed with anger! Not blushing, no, he never blushed.

 

“T-Those are completely different!”

 

“Oh? How is that so, Ikkaku? My dream obviously means I’m having an affair or no longer interested in you, but your little man-crushes don’t mean anything at all? My, such double standards are so _ugly_.”

 

“Mine obviously don’t mean anything! I mean it’s only natural I look up to Zaraki-Taichou, he’s everything I aspire to be, but I wouldn’t stand a chance with such a bloodthirsty guy, even if I wanted to. Hell, he’s the Demon of Squad Eleven! The day that guy finds someone to date or even screw on a regular basis is the day Kuchiki-Taichou learns to let loose a bit! As for Matsumoto, well . . .”

 

“Don’t you think it’s the same for myself and Hisagi-Fukutaichou? I do believe the first time I met him properly was during the Ryoka problems, and I fought him, beat him and destroyed him! My, it was such a great battle! Not one scratch upon me, to which I owe thanks to my wonderful Ruri’iro Kujaku! My, I don’t believe we’ve really met much outside of that one time, of course there was that one time during that _horrid_ fight, but I shall always despise him for that moment, he held me back! He stopped me from reaching you! I can never forgive him for holding me back, not when I needed so badly to get to you, to help you!”

 

“Yeah? Well if you hate the guy that much then why dream about him in such sex-filled situations? Why not dream about me? Most people only dream about people they want sexually or romantically, if you don’t want him romantically then it’s got to be sexually?”

 

Ikkaku hurled the sake bottle high before throwing it hard as possible across the gardens; it crashed hard against the bark of a distant tree, scarring its surface with a series of scratches. It was probably immature, probably childish too, but he just needed to express his anger and it was such an easy way to! He hated to admit it but he felt kind of inadequate, like he was no longer able to satisfy Yumi, that he was no longer good enough to attract him. He felt ugly, pathetic, like his lover wanted someone else, no longer wanted him, he felt like – like – one of those peahens, something only good for fighting because it sure as hell wasn’t as pretty as its counterpart.

 

“Let me guess,” Ikkaku continued, “Bald guys don’t do it for you anymore? You want the ones with luscious hair, and scars – oh yeah, don’t forget the facial scars – ‘cause facial scars are just so much more manly, ain’t they?”

 

“Ikkaku, it isn’t like that . . .”

 

Yumichika let out a long deep sigh.

 

It was so frustrating for him to be in this situation. It just seemed that these days they were always fighting, arguing or bickering time after time again, always picking on little things to blow far out of natural proportions.

 

Luckily, more often than not, their little spats seemed to be innocent in most regards, such as the time Yumichika had super-glued that wig upon Ikkaku’s head, but even then in such ‘innocent’ disagreements he’d find his lover exploding in a temper tantrum, throwing a fit as if he were no more than a child. Over time he’d grown to live with it, accept Ikkaku’s highly-strung, aggressive nature as being a part of his innate personality, of being a part of his philosophy, a part of his loyalty and comradeship to Squad Eleven. He’d grown to accept Ikkaku for whom he was. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t completely unbothered by such behaviour, why of course he was, such behaviour was ugly and unkind and immature, and he’d rather spend time with a calm person than an irate Ikkaku any day, but – overall – he’d come to accept his lover’s flaws, and he’d come to love him despite them. It was only fair after all, because Yumichika would be willing to admit that he himself had some very _minor_ defects that did not enhance his natural perfection, and if he expected to be loved for who he was then it was only right he should accept Ikkaku for who he was also. Fair was fair.

 

Although . . . if he were to think strongly about it . . . that was the problem, was it not? He loved Ikkaku, loved him with the very depths of his soul, the other man was a part of him and one which he cherished and adored, a part of him that had always been there and he prayed always would. Ikkaku had been there in the Rukongai, he’d been there in the Academy, and he’d been there by his side as they joined Squad Eleven and began their careers as Shinigami. To lose Ikkaku would be to lose a part of himself, a part of his identity, it would be to lose an entire section of his life, history and soul. The one thing he feared most in this world was to be alone, truly alone, and if for some reason he offended Ikkaku then that was what he would be: alone.

 

It hurt him so much to think of losing his lover that his fear would always cause his heart to pound, his throat to go dry and his stomach to sink, a feeling of intense dread that stole away his senses and left him but a shell of a person. Each time he came close to losing Ikkaku he lost all reason and rationale, he became an animal of instinct, consumed by a desperate terror, his sole purpose to bring back the love he was so close to losing. Perhaps it was true he had a fear of abandonment, the thought of losing his Captain, his lieutenant or his friends . . . it tore him inside, brought about a sense of pain that nearly crippled him and often made him double over, and that very fear was what had caused him to lie about his Zanpakuto, to lie about himself. The idea of losing them was too much to bear, and so to lose Ikkaku -? That would be a thousand times worse. It was the reason why he sought never to push his lover, never to pressure him or lecture him, never to annoy him or change him, he would always, _always_ accept Ikkaku for who he was because to even mention one fault was to risk his anger, and to risk his anger meant risking their entire relationship. What if he spoke of something Ikkaku didn’t like and Ikkaku left? What if he tried to change his lover’s behaviour and it was an integral part of his personality? He couldn’t risk losing the man he loved. He could not!

 

Yet, as he said, that was the problem. The problem was that there was a slight flaw with Ikkaku that he couldn’t bear to mention, something that was constant and always there in his life like an invader trespassing upon his space, something bad that marred a place that should otherwise be good. This was the man he loved, adored, _worshiped_ and yet he somehow couldn’t feel loved back. He felt second place – always second place – second place to their work, to the thrill of the fight, to the lure of the drink, to the fun of the match. He felt second place to his respect of Zaraki-Taichou and his comradeship with Tetsuzaemon-Fukutaichou, and most of all he had no idea how to compete, to redeem himself, to make himself worthy! Of course he looked like a god, he was perfect in every way, and yet that wasn’t enough and nor was his own spectacular personality it seemed. He wanted to talk about it, mention it, to simply say something but how could he? How could he when to question their relationship might make Ikkaku turn tails and run? How could he question and criticise his lover’s feelings when that might simply make Ikkaku realise that the hassle wasn’t worth it, that Yumichika wasn’t worth it, that it was simply better to up and leave? Maybe he was just as much as a fool as Ikkaku, the man who was willing to die in a battle to simply save his pride, because at least his lover and captain had reasons to fight to the death, at least they fought for something real to them . . . His only reason for fighting to the death, for being so willing to sacrifice his life, was his fear of losing those he loved, the fear of them leaving him, and when you thought about what kind of reason was that? It wasn’t one. It wasn’t one at all . . .

 

He looked to Ikkaku who was grinning in an almost maddening way, their eyes locking for a brief moment in which they seemed to share a spark, something special and unique, a moment of understanding that no one else could ever hope to understand or decipher, a moment uniquely belonging to them. His lover’s eyes seemed to flicker with sadness, a sense of deep regret that only an understanding of the inevitable can bring, and in his own he was sure the very same emotion was being reflected back. His own regret that he could not be what Ikkaku wanted, his sorrow that he may lose the man his loved, his own fear that this could be it, that there could simply be no more. It was too hard to bear.

 

“Ikkaku,” He said sadly, this time refusing to break his eye contact, needing that connection no matter how tenuous it may be, “I love you deeply, but you must understand that no matter how much I love you that you always seem to put the thrill of the fight before me! It hurts me, Ikkaku. It hurts me to see you always training and fighting, ignoring me in the process.

 

“You are aware that when you trained with Renji that I was convinced you were cheating? You locked yourself away with him for so long whilst doing the one thing you loved more in the world, and as for me -? I actually had to speak to him afterwards where he had to assure me nothing happened between the two of you! I was so scared, so scared you’d found someone else. You fight, drink, train and sleep and these things seem so important to you, but how often have you ever said to me how you feel, how often do you touch me and hold me when it’s not to instigate sex, and how often do you simply choose my company over that of a drinking binge or a bloodthirsty fight? I don’t feel loved, Ikkaku. I feel . . . insignificant.”

 

At least Ikkaku had the decency to look embarrassed at that. His cheeks were slightly flushed red, although that may have been from the sake, and his eyes were focused and steady as they seemed to look away at some fixed point up ahead. It was unusual but his whole facial expression seemed narrowed, lengthened but with tension upon his jaw, almost how he appeared when Yumichika had first came to him in the medical room of Squad Four after the Ryoka attack, that very same look of serious reflection, or understanding, and – most of all – of defeat.

 

“So that’s your excuse for wanting someone else? It’s all my fault? Grow up, Yumi.”

 

“Don’t you get it, Ikkaku?” Yumi snapped, his face becoming slightly less than beautiful as a look of frustration overcame him, “I don’t want anyone else! I want you, only you! The only reason I dreamt of Hisagi-Fukutaichou is – is - . . . it’s because I want some affection, alright?”

 

He blushed wildly and at once straightened his back, rolling his shoulders as he threw he glance to his left, looking as far away from Ikkaku as he could. It was all so embarrassing! It was hard to believe he was having a conversation like this, hard to believe that it had even came to this, that his life had forced him to confront an issue he’d have rather left hidden. Perhaps it was better to be honest, to discuss the matter together like a real couple, like a mature couple, but all he could think was ‘what if Ikkaku thinks I’m weak? What if he no longer wants me?’ because surely that was the real issue? What if Ikkaku _didn’t_ want him? What if he was no longer good enough? What if he left him all because of this stupid conversation? What then?

 

“You -,” His lover seemed to stumble on his words, probably too shocked to speak properly, “You want affection. That’s why you had that dream, because you want ‘affection’?”

 

“Yes, Ikkaku. I want affection.”

 

He sighed and continued, his gaze moving to a soft patch of grass in front of him, his eyes observing it for all its natural beauty and for its freedom, for how no matter what it would always have a purpose, a reason for being, for how that would never be taken away from it. Sure it existed mainly to be trodden upon, to be subservient to others, but what it had was an innate purpose independent of others, something that no one could ever take from it. He wanted that purpose. He wanted to know that he didn’t need anyone, that he could live without the captain or Ikkaku, that he was simply _free._ He hated being so scared of losing his loved ones, of being terrified that this moment may be his last with his lover, he hated it . . . he hated feeling so weak, so controlled, so consumed by fate and the will of others. No one else’s feelings should be a concern of his, and yet they were; their pity, their disgust, their rage, it all mattered, all of it . . . he couldn’t have Ikkaku see him in such a way, he just couldn’t.

 

“I want affection. I want to feel loved. I want to feel needed, wanted, desired! I want to feel someone wrap their arms around me and tell me everything will be okay, I want them to whisper in my ear that they’ll never leave me, I want them to look into my eyes and say ‘I love you’ as we make love. To you I’m nothing but an object! You only hold me when you want to take me, you can’t promise me you won’t leave me as you risk you’re life daily, and you rarely look into my eyes as all you care about is the thrill of the sex! I love you so much, I would never leave you, and yet -?”

 

“Oh, there’s more?”

 

“Yes there is more! Hisagi-Fukutaichou, although I do not love or lust for him, is an affectionate man. He is the sort to share his emotions, to hug his friends when they are hurt, to hold back even a virtual stranger when they are ready to risk their lives. He is the sort of man who cares for others and will not hide that feeling, he’ll express it and let the people he loves know that they are loved. Even now he fights to win back the affections of his captain who betrayed him, even now he fights for the captain that came before, the one he lost so many years ago and revered. He is an affectionate man. I dreamt of him merely because I wanted affection, and he is the most affectionate person I know, I dreamt of him because it was the only way I could get what I needed . . . in a dream.”

 

Ikkaku tensed at those words. It was hard to hear, and certainly not something he’d ever considered, in fact it hadn’t even crossed his mind for even a second. He’d just assumed the moment he heard Yumichika having that dream that it’d just been a lust thing, that his lover no longer desired him and wanted someone else, anyone else, and now he felt he’d been hit on the head with a rather heavy realisation. It sounded strange, and he doubted anyone else would even believe it, but Yumi’s dream had been pretty innocent and based on his love for Ikkaku, he loved Ikkaku too much to leave him, cheat on him or even hurt him by raising the point, and so – instead – he sought affection the only place he could, in the sanctuary on his own mind. He’d never once thought that his selfish behaviour would actually hurt his lover, that by focusing solely on the fights and putting his lover second that he’d feel neglected, and frankly he wasn’t a mind-reader, he’d always assumed if anything was wrong that his boyfriend would tell him. He’d been neglecting the person he loved most in the world, making them feel inadequate and imperfect by always thinking of them last, by always putting their needs second. It was a pretty crappy feeling all in all. He felt about two inches tall, to just know he’d done something so low and hurtful made him feel less of a man. It was like hitting an opponent whilst his back was turned, or taking someone on two-against-one, it was something you just didn’t do! It was unethical to hurt his lover, to make him feel this way, to put his needs before the guy he loved, and he felt really shameful. It was far from a nice feeling at all.

 

“Yumi . . .”

 

Yumichika mentally sighed. He knew what was coming, it would be the moment where he lost his lover for good, where Ikkaku finally realised that he just wasn’t worth the trouble and left him. He should never have openly asked for more ‘affection’, it sounded far too much like a criticism, like he was personally attacking Ikkaku, and how would any rational person react to something like that? Yet – yet the fear of losing the man he loved was too much! His head felt so light, like it was swimming under all of the pressure, ready to cave in at a moments notice, his heart felt like the fluttering wings of a butterfly, something light and unsteady, something chaotic and yet fragile, and all the while his breathing seemed jerky, like if he didn’t take the next gasp for breath he may hyperventilate entirely. He didn’t want to hear the words that were about to come, he just couldn’t!

 

“Yumi, I’m sorry . . .”

 

He blinked several times and looked on at his lover curiously, half wondering whether he should feel relief at those words or sheer shock that they were even spoken. He couldn’t believe that Ikkaku had apologised, that he’d taken back his actions with that one meaningful word, and yet -. No. He could not believe it. It was most likely a goodbye, a sorry followed with a ‘but’, followed with the words ‘I think we shouldn’t be together anymore’. That had to be the kind of sorry it was, because what else could it be? Yumichika wasn’t one of Squad Eleven, not really; he was the kido-type carrying, looks-obsessed ‘pretty boy’ who despised the idea of losing his loved ones to the heat of battle. He didn’t blame Ikkaku for leaving him, how could he? Ikkaku deserved better, surely? It was no wonder he was leaving Yumichika. He knew this would happen, _he knew it_! He knew it . . . and yet that didn’t make it any easier.

 

“What are you sorry for, Ikkaku?” He replied in a broken voice.

 

“I’m sorry for hurting you.” When he spoke he locked eyes with Yumichika, refusing to drop his gaze for even a second, “I’m not a bloody mind-reader, you know? You always prance about so happy and cheerful, always by my side, it wasn’t as if I knew I was hurting you. If I’d have known I would have done something about it.” He sighed but a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips, “It’s not like we’d be holding hands in public or I’d be declaring my undying love, I’m not really all for that mushy stuff, especially in front of people . . . but if you wanted affection, I could have gave you that, but in private of course.”

 

“You’re using past tense, Ikkaku.” Yumichika said coldly.

 

It may have been a very small thing to most people, but not to Yumichika. The words were all set in the past, based in events that had already occurred, with little there to indicate present ideas or emotions, none at all to indicate the future. It was as if that was all Ikkaku saw them as, a relic of the past to be forgotten and maybe even buried, something that wasn’t worth saving or renewing, a thing of a bygone era. It hurt him; it hurt him beyond words that his lover could think that! They’d spent a lifetime together, their relationship was so close and special that he’d assumed it’d last forever, and yet here he was hearing that – despite everything – Ikkaku considered it past, something that no longer held meaning or purpose, something dead in the water. He felt something inside him break, a feeling that he couldn’t quite put into words, because it was something beyond words, something inside him that felt as if his world was crumbling, as if his entire soul was being consumed by a dark void. His breath seemed to stop, his pulse seem to freeze, and he felt overwhelmed by all the emotions he was experiencing, no longer terrified of losing Ikkaku because he had already lost him, already lost the most precious person alive to him. It hurt, it ached, it was a pain that seemed almost painless, something so acute it swallowed all emotions and thoughts with it, leaving him just an empty shell. It was all he could do just to remain cool and collected, to keep his mask an expressionless face, because if he let that mask slip for even a second he’d appear to be the broken man that he was, and he couldn’t allow that, he couldn’t, because right now all he had left was that dignity, and even that was fragile.

 

“Of course I’m using past tense!” Ikkaku snapped.

 

Sometimes his lover really annoyed him, it was often like talking to a brick wall, but at least a brick wall offered you some support! Seriously, there were times when he’d stumble with his words, trying to express something he just wasn’t smart enough to express, when Yumichika would get all ratty and pre-menstrual with him, like some crazy woman, and make things ten times harder than they needed to be. It just seemed like today was one of those times. He’d obviously said something wrong and – instead of being calm and asking him to speak sense – Yumi was just getting worked up and obviously sulking! It was like walking on eggshells all the time, and yes he knew he probably should have been more sensitive and supportive considering how upset Yumi was, but it was damn well hard when the guy was just jumping to silly conclusions! Ikkaku wasn’t all too bright at some things, he’d willingly admit to being better at physical activities than those things involving academic pursuits, but he knew what Yumi was thinking, probably something like ‘oh, woe is me! He’s using past tense so that must mean it’s all over!’ Really, did Yumi had to over-think everything? It’d be nice if one day he could just trust him, but until then it seemed like Ikkaku was going to have to spell things out using very small words.

 

“I’m using past tense because I don’t plan on being that way anymore,” He snapped, ironically sulking himself as he pouted in a very Yumi-like way, “I love you Yumi, sometimes I wonder why, but I do. If you want me to be sweeter and all that then I will, but you’re going to have to start telling me these things, because unless you tell me I’ll never know. I promise I won’t be so unaffectionate from now on, at least not behind closed doors. I ain’t going to be all lovey-dovey with you in public. Tch!”

 

Yumichika gave a brilliant smile at that. It was one Ikkaku rarely seen, one he usually possessed after an intense battle that led to victory, or in the afterglow of some very good sex. It was a smile that brightened his entire face, adding colour to his cheeks and making his eyes seem all the more intense, lively and passionate, the kind of smile that makes you want to smile in response, a contagious expression, one that spread joy as well as expressing it. It was weird to think that he could affect Yumi in such a way, changing and shaping his emotions with a few words, but then again Yumi loved him so much, so unconditionally, it was like his entire purpose for living depended upon Ikkaku and his love, so in that respect it made sense for Ikkaku’s words to have such meaning to him, and yet -? It was strange, like a responsibility in itself. He didn’t like knowing that someone else depended on him in such a way, that he was responsible for someone else’s emotional state, because that meant with an ill placed phrase he could reduce Yumi to a state of depression or upset, and he didn’t like that idea, not at all.

 

“I really am sorry, Yumichika. I never meant to hurt you.”

 

“I know,” Yumi beamed brightly, “You’ve always been so kind to me. When we were forced to stay at Keigo’s you always let me have the bed, I never once had to sleep on the floor. There are not many people who’d be willing to risk their lives for me in battle either, or trust me enough to style their hair – or lack thereof – with a wig. You’ve always loved me, I know that, it’s just how you express it that I objected to, always putting the thrill of the battle first . . . You have no idea how happy you’ve made me just by being willing to be so much more warm around me, even if it is only in private! Thank you, Ikkaku.”

 

 

 

“How can you forgive me so easily?”

 

Yumichika gave a soft little laugh and beamed brightly at his lover, “Because I love you of course. I’m just relieved you don’t want to leave me! It’s hard to be sad when the person you love still loves you in return.”

 

“I really do love you,” Ikkaku said, a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

 

“I know, and I love you too.”

 

It seemed to Ikkaku that an almost awkward moment passed between them. Yumichika just seemed so happy, so much in love, like the whole world was back on track to the path of goodness, and all because Ikkaku had made him a promise, all because Ikkaku had said a few simple words . . . It was weird to him to think he could affect his lover in such a way, but even stranger to think of the promise he’d made. It wasn’t that he wasn’t willing to keep his promise, but more he wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed. He wasn’t a romantic kind of guy, and he’d never really had much intentions of being so, frankly he’d never understood the whole lovey-dovey side of relationships, because – surely – after all, wasn’t it obvious that you loved someone by how you told them or held them? What did anything else mean? Hell, candlelit dinners seemed a waste of money when they could grab a bite at the local izakaya, and what did cuddling mean when sex was so much more enjoyable?

 

He didn’t get it. What the heck did Yumichika want from him anyways? What did affection or romance mean in the scheme of things? It just wasn’t something he could comprehend, it was just too hard to make sense of, and what made it worse was that it seemed so important to Yumi! If he didn’t get it right, then what would happen? Would Yumi leave him, or go back to dreaming about other guys? It was enough to make him feel almost like less of a man, after all he’d never heard any of the guys having this kind of problem, they all seemed to do great, and he’d be damned if he asked them about this, no way, they’d laugh their heads off! Stupid idiots.

 

Then again that wasn’t the only problem. Did – did Yumichika expect him to start being affectionate _now_? He wasn’t really sure how to be romantic at the best of times, but after a couple bottles of sake in the middle of Squad Three gardens, during the day too when he was sure he was meant to be working . . . Ikkaku just wasn’t sure how to make that work. Then again . . . romance and affection didn’t have to mean the same thing, right? Maybe he could be all sweet, despite where they were, all that involved would be holding hands or hugging or whispering sweet nothings, right? Oh God, all those things made him internally wince, it was just so – so – so _wimpy_! It was the kind of thing he expected Squad Four guys to get up too, like dancing through flower fields or making daisy chains, or whatever those weirdoes did, and even if no one would ever know he’d been all lovey-dovey it still felt like he’d be putting a nail in the coffin of his masculinity. Man, if he had to start being all hand-holding then he’d never be able to look himself in the mirror again, even his reflection would laugh at him! Still, that’s what Yumi wanted right? To feel loved? He could make sacrifices, yeah, he could do this, he knew he could, he hoped . . .

 

Luckily his dilemma of what to do was taken from his hands by Yumi, who thankfully had decided to take the first step. It was strange for him to have his lover make the first move, and even stranger considering he thought Yumi wanted affection and not something sexual, but when he thought about it long enough perhaps sex could be gentle, romantic and affectionate? Is that what Yumi wanted? Not anything new or special as such, but simply just to occasionally adapt the things they already did so he felt loved, being gentler with his gestures and slower with his movements? Was that what this thing called ‘affection’ was, simply showing the person you loved them no matter what it was you happened to be doing? Simply being there, loving them, _showing_ them that you loved them? If that was all it was then he could do that. He loved Yumichika, if all it meant was expressing that love occasionally then he could do it, he could, because there was nothing easier in the world than loving Yumichika.

 

“I love you, Ikkaku.” Yumichika whispered.

 

There was a slight rustling of fabric as Yumichika slid gracefully across the dew-damp grass, his body lithe and seemingly almost weightless as he appeared to glide across the short distance to be by Ikkaku’s side. The moment he was in reach he raised his hand to Ikkaku’s cheek and allowed his fingers to trace of his firm skin, his fingertips gradually coming down to stroke over his jawbone before gently lying upon Ikkaku’s full, plump lips. The touch was barely there, soft and sensuous, something teasing and loving, a touch that served merely to demonstrate feeling, emotion, a touch that wasn’t designed to lead to anything more but merely to act on itself, representing emotions too deep to be expressed with words alone.

 

His fingertips seemed to linger for a long moment before falling away, to be replaced with a soft and chaste kiss from Yumi’s rich, full lips. There was a bubble of excitement from deep inside Ikkaku as he felt his lover’s mouth pressed close against his own, their lips parting for a brief second so as to allow for a quick taste of one another, marking it as more than platonic, allowing them to express their deep feelings of love and affection through that one gesture alone. When Yumi pulled away he was panting slightly, just slightly, enough to show how much that small and innocent kiss had meant to him. There was a faint, crimson scattering across his cheeks and his eyes and mouth lit up brightly into a large smile, marking him with an expression of sheer happiness and warmth. It was an infectious look, making Ikkaku smile in response, making his heart swell and his body feel nothing but an overall sense of joy and contentment. He loved Yumi, he loved him so much, just that one chaste kiss had his blood boiling and his tongue gently coming out to lick at his lips, to find what little traces of Yumi were left on his skin. This was the man whom he adored and cared for, and even if the kiss was small and innocent he loved it nonetheless, and he loved it because it had came from Yumi, the man he loved more than anything, even the heat of battle.

 

Still smiling, Ikkaku gently wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, letting his arms rest lightly upon the thin, finely shaped midsection. His hold was so gentle it was as if he was holding onto something precious, as if he were cradling a fine porcelain doll, something fragile and breakable, something that needed nothing but love in order to thrive. Then with a careful, gentle lift he brought Yumichika up from the patch of grass beside him to instead sit upon his lap, smiling when he heard Yumi let out a surprised gasp.

 

He felt Yumi instinctively throw his arms around his neck, holding firmly as if scared that otherwise Ikkaku might drop him or allow him to fall, but there was no way Ikkaku would ever let go, not now, not when they’d grown so close and he had something to prove, not when he needed his lover to know how much he loved him, just how special he was to him. It was so comfortable too, having the feeling of Yumi’s weight settle nicely upon his lap, feeling his legs either side of him and gripping firmly as if to reassure himself that Ikkaku was really there beneath him, and how his hands would gently fidget behind his neck, tickling him just ever so slightly as Yumi’s face inched ever closer.  He could feel Yumi’s breath gently blowing over his lips, the warmth and moist heat making him almost ache in expectation, just knowing that they were showing the same air, breathing the same space of oxygen, somehow seeming so intimate and close, as if they somehow depended on each other for life itself. It was all so personal, so perfect, having his lover not only in his arms but on his lap also, their bodies almost moulded to one another as they basked in their private moment, relishing in the sheer intimacy of it all, as if the world in itself couldn’t reach them, as if they existed only in their own private world. It was strange but they weren’t even doing anything, at least nothing sexual, and yet it seemed to right, so prefect, so wonderful. How’d Yumi do it? How’d he weave a spell over Ikkaku and make him feel this way? The guy was definitely a demon in disguise.

 

“Thank you,” Yumichika whispered as if to no one.

 

“What for?”

 

“For this, for just being you, for finally showing me some warmth without expecting anything in return,” He placed a small kiss upon the corner of Ikkaku’s mouth and pulled back with a radiant smile, “Would it be too much if I asked for . . . well . . . more . . .?”

 

“I thought you just wanted romance and warmth?”

 

Yumichika beamed brightly and leant into the crook of Ikkaku’s neck, his fingers playing lightly with themselves at the base of his lover’s head. He nuzzled lightly, his nose inhaling his lover’s rich scent as he placed his cheek softly upon Ikkaku’s shoulder, simply allowing himself a moment to breathe in his lover, to rest against him lightly, enjoying their rare moment of closeness and privacy. It was a heart-warming moment for him, one that meant the world, one that made him glow from within, realising that he was with the man he loved and no one else. It was a precious moment, one special and spectacular, one he’d trade for no other.

 

“I want you, Ikkaku,” He said sincerely, “I want the love, the affection, the gentleness . . . but above all else I want you. You also forget that I _am_ a member of Squad Eleven I have the same masculine desires as the rest of you, and I demand that you satisfy them, Ikkaku, albeit in a rather gentle way. I want you to make love to me. I want to feel loved; I want to love you back. Please, Ikkaku?”

 

“Damn it, Yumi. How’d you do this to me?”

 

In a soft yet firm gesture he reached up and took a hold of Yumi’s chin, lifting him so that he was now looking his lover deeply in the eyes, their faces but an inch from one another as they shared in one deep moment in time. Everything seemed to move so slowly, as if each second bled into the next and yet somehow stayed still at the same time, the anticipation for what was to come making the action seem slower, calmer, although far more intense. Then Yumichika’s lips were finally upon his, touching him firmly and slowly, massaging his own with a familiar passion, tasting him and marking him as his, leading slowly onto the events to come.

 

He loved how Yumi’s firm chest pressed against his as he instinctively sought to deepen the kiss, the sound their lips made when locked together, and how his lover licked upon his bottom lip as if to hint at things to come, nipping occasionally with his teeth to draw out an insane mixture of pleasure and pain. It drove him mad feeling the man he loved sitting upon him, kissing him with great ferocity but at a soft, gentle pace that seemed to go on forever, and he couldn’t help but allow his hands to explore, searching every inch of Yumi as the kiss began to grow with more passion. His right hand rested upon a supple thigh, massaging it lightly and carefully, feeling it as it flexed occasionally beneath him in pleasure, and his left hand trailed paths up and down his lover’s back, working out his kosode from his hakama, before working its way inside, and allowing itself to touch at the naked, smooth, flawless flesh of Yumi’s back. It was then that Yumi gasped at the touch and opened his mouth wide, allowing Ikkaku to deepen the kiss and take advantage of his lover’s moment of weakness. He slid his tongue deep into Yumi’s mouth, relishing the delicious taste of his lover and coaxing the hot muscle inside to life, exploring every inch of that perfect mouth, almost consuming it in his desire for more, in his desire to express his love to Yumi in one of the few ways he knew how. He loved kissing Yumi, he always had. He loved the way it always felt so warm, so intimate, how with each kiss his blood would seem to set alight and how his groin would seem to harden, waiting in anticipation for more to come, and always he loved simply being so close to his lover, just holding him in his arms, just loving him in such a simple and gentle way.

 

He was so involved with the kiss, relishing the private moment between them, the joining of their bodies as they expressed their love wordlessly to one another, that he failed to notice Yumi’s hands trailing over his chest, exploring his clothed skin feverishly. His hands had at some point slid away from Ikkaku’s neck, forcing their way between their two bodies, moving of their own accord as if with a consciousness of their own, fingertips pressing firmly but smoothing, hard but gently, tracing Ikkaku’s abs as if for the first time. They seemed to slide lower and lower, but with Yumichika’s teeth nibbling upon his lip he could barely notice, all he could feel was those plump, ripe, softened lips pulling at his own as his tongue was teased with a delicious, rich taste that belonged only to his lover. The kiss was so intense, too intense, already he found himself losing moments of time, losing himself completely so that minutes seemed to pass like seconds, and his length seemed to harden beneath him so that each time Yumi shifted his weight, moved even slightly, that he’d find himself groaning into the kiss, feeling the pleasure of his lover grinding down onto him from above.

 

It was hard to think that he – Ikkaku, Third Seat of Squad Eleven – could be so engrossed in just a kiss, that his entire body could feel alight with arousal and pleasure, just from one kiss! Sure it was good, sure it was freaking fantastic, but it wasn’t as if he was getting a strip show from his lover, or a good blow, or even that they were at the sex part yet – it was just a kiss! It made him feel less manly, kind of girly, but in his defence Yumi was one hell of a kisser, and in fact he was god damned amazing! The things that guy could do with his mouth should have been illegal!

 

He hadn’t even noticed when Yumi’s hands had came down to his groin area, tugging at his sash with expert technique before pulling it away slowly . . . Well, it’d be a lie to say he hadn’t noticed at all, a part of him wanted his lover to tie his hands around the tree, or maybe improvise somehow by turning it into some sort of kinky toy, but that wasn’t what Yumi wanted, was it? Yumichika wanted love, affection, tenderness, the sorts of things that came from loving caresses, gentle holds, intimate gestures, the sorts of things one couldn’t get from a quick lay or love games. All he wanted was to make Yumi happy, to see his bright smile return, to see him brimming with joy the way he did after an excellent fight, and if that meant keeping things simply then he was willing to that – he was willing to that for Yumi. So he merely smiled as the sash was dropped carefully beside them, this time not flung to some far corner or lost in the heat of passion. He knew their kiss had became sloppy, mostly clashing teeth and perhaps a little too wet, but he couldn’t stop smiling despite himself, it was a pretty romantic moment in his opinion, a soft and tender moment under the trees in a blossoming garden. He’d never admit to liking it, but it was pretty amazing in its own right, something special to be cherished, something to be treasured, and something that was just his and Yumi’s and no one else’s.

 

Suddenly he felt his length encased in a warm fist, forcing him to cry out loudly in pleasure. It was so abrupt, so sudden, that he had no other choice but to break the kiss as he threw back his head, hitting it harshly onto the bark of the tree but leaving him unable to care. All he could care about was how Yumi had somehow worked his member free from his fundoshi, and was currently stroking it with such long, languid strokes that its skill would no doubt make a master whore jealous. He was pumping Ikkaku in a slow but continuous rhythm, twisting on each up-stroke so that it’d cause him to gasp and buck, moaning even more as an occasional thumb would stroke his slit, smearing pre-come over his head. It was like electric, all he could feel was fire spreading through his every nerve, pleasure unlike any other, and it felt so good! He was panting already, gasping for air, and he knew that although he could go for a lot longer that it’d be easy for Yumi to finish him like this, the guy just had so much skill, so much talent! It was so goddamned good! He was even nibbling his neck, teasing him with that mouth of his, and all Ikkaku knew what that he couldn’t take this for much longer, he really couldn’t.

 

Ikkaku released one of his hands from underneath Yumi’s kosode and reached up to his lover’s head, gently entwining his fingers through those velvety soft locks, before pulling him upwards for another mind-blowing kiss. He worked his other hand between them, easing it downwards to pull loose Yumi’s own sash, letting his hakama drop to his knees, unable to move any further from his sitting position upon Ikkaku. A faint blush dusted his lover’s cheeks, staining his porcelain skin crimson as the crisp air brushed past them, cooling them slightly but mostly serving only to remind them of where they were. It seemed Yumichika had – again – foregone his fundoshi, and instead stood erect and half-naked, squatting above Ikkaku in arousal, ready to begin in their lovemaking. Ikkaku only hoped no one decided to visit the gardens today, granted they were hidden from casual sight by the plant life, but should anyone actually walk through or inside the gardens themselves . . .

 

“I-Ikkaku! We should stop, we could get caught again and Captain would -.”

 

“Captain can only punish us if we get caught,” Ikkaku mumbled, trailing soft kisses along his lover’s jaw, “So we just have to make sure we don’t get caught.”

 

“I don’t think that -. Oh God!”

 

Ikkaku smirked as his lover’s mouth opened into a wide ‘O’ shape as he took his hand and began to pump his length, his movements matching Yumi’s perfectly. Each time his lover would falter he would falter, each time his lover’s pace would quicken his own pace would quicken alongside it. It was like a maddening game, one that neither could win nor lose, each man losing himself in the heat of love and lust, moving in time with one another as their slow pace seemed to grow more frantic, mimicking the desire they felt inside themselves. It was almost too much for Ikkaku to bear, too hard to hold onto his sanity, it was just too good, too perfect, and too wonderful! He wanted more; he wanted to hold Yumi close enough to hear his heart beat, he wanted to feel the other man sheathing him and gripping him tight, he wanted to hear his love call out loudly as they proclaimed their love to the world. He wanted so much, so much that he didn’t dare ask for it, but at the same time he needed it, he needed it soon before it became too much, before he exploded from sheer desire.

 

“Turn around, Yumi.” He whispered.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Turn around. There’s no way I can take you how you’re sitting, the hakama is in the way, if you want to do this you have to face the other way.”

 

His heart was beating so fast he could hear it pound inside his ears, his pulse racing. He wanted so much to continue kissing Yumi but the position would make it impossible, separating their mouths from consummating their love, but at the same time it needed to be done if they wanted to truly consummate their love, if they truly wanted to be joined together as one.

 

He swallowed hard as Yumichika spun around above him, watching his lover move with such dexterity and grace that just wasn’t normal for a member of their squad. He truly looked like an angel, something surreal and elegant, and something that just wasn’t made for a guy like Ikkaku. Yumi was a blessing, a beautiful man with strength, talent, grace and looks, and it was impossible to do anything but worship him, at least not when his lover’s firm, ripe and round buttocks were now pressed right against his aching cock, teasing it with their warmth and perfection. There was a sense of loss as Ikkaku was still fully clothes, save for his bared erection, and as for Yumi his chest was bare as was his thighs, but he still had on his uniform, no matter how far it had fallen . . . Ikkaku craved to run his hands over naked flesh, to explore every inch of his lover’s skin, but he knew it was too risky to remove all their clothing here, and besides, this was more than lust, it was about re-establishing their relationship, it was about love, it was simply about coming together as one.

 

“I love you, Yumi.”

 

He allowed his right hand to snake along his lover’s abdomen, before pulling upon him so that Yumichika lay flat against his chest, allowing him to nuzzle his head in the crook of Yumi’s neck, inhaling deeply to smell the rich aroma of the man he adored. His lips worked slowly at kissing, nipping and playing with the column of neck before him, and moving his rough fingertips upwards to play and tease with a budding nipple of Yumichika.

 

The violet-haired man at once let out a shrill moan, throwing his head back so as to allow Ikkaku more space to lick and kiss, marking him with small love-bites as Yumi writhed above him, as if trying to escape those pleasure-inducing fingers, as if it was too much to bear. He adored the expressions that Yumi appeared to be making, his eyes tightly shut as his beautiful mouth parted just slightly to allow gasped breaths to be released, and his hands seemed to grope at any surface as if unsure what to grab from his position. Eventually he took to gripping tightly on Ikkaku’s thighs, whilst he continued to grind and writhe from above, arching his back so that Ikkaku found himself virtually hugging his lover just to reach those nubs that caused Yumi such pleasure. He hated to admit it, but it was actually nice to be able to hug him in such a way too, and so it was only natural when he wrapped his left arm tightly around Yumi’s waist, his hand stroking lightly at his right hipbone, whilst he whispered over and over to Yumi what he hoped were ‘sweet nothings’, because he’d be damned if he’d be saying them again in a hurry.

 

It was almost unbearable though! Yumi’s bare buttocks were flush against his member, in fact his length had shifted right in between his lover’s rounded globes, encased by that tight crevice, being massaged by Yumi as he instinctively clenched and unclenched in pleasure. He wanted nothing more than to slide inside his lover, to feel his heat around him, to feel the pressure encompassing him as he thrust rhythmically inside, but he doubted it’d be possible, at least not yet, not now. He hadn’t expected things to turn out like this, for making love to be a possibility, and so they hadn’t any lubrication on hand, and even if they made do with saliva they were supposed to be on duty, it would be suspicious if they both had the next hour off and one came back with a limp . . . Damn it! They’d just have to make do with things as they were, but still it was pretty damned hot and it felt really good, and besides this was about making love not a hard and fast fuck. If this is what it came down to then he’d deal with it, and he’d deal with it because he loved Yumi, he loved him and wanted to show him that, and what a better way than by making him feel good without demanding anything else in return?

 

He trailed his right hand down to Yumi’s length, using his left to keep his lover pressed flush against him as he continued to nibble at his neck, and quickly he grabbed a hold onto his length and began to pump slowly . . .

 

Yumichika gasped loudly and bucked, pulling upon Ikkaku’s cock in the process as his buttocks clenched and moved up with him, and so Ikkaku thrust upwards to follow his lover’s movements. Each time his lover moved he made sure to move with him, thrusting against his lover’s buttocks without actually penetrating him, but still receiving such pleasure his mind reeled and begged for more.

 

His whole body seemed alight with satisfaction, his every muscle flexing and tensing in each movement, his every nerve tingling with bliss as he moved in a moderate pace with the man he loved, his hand stroking him faster and faster. He relished how Yumichika was now panting and moaning continuously, losing his breath each time he thrust downwards as if he was being pounded rather that thrust against. It was perfect and so arousing; each sound he made seemed to be the most erotic sound he’d ever heard, a sound bordering on pain and pleasure and mingling with the natural sounds of the gardens around them. Their pace had seemed to pick up, moving faster with each passing moment, and Ikkaku found himself choking on air itself as a thin veil of sweat coated his body, the heat made worse by how his lover’s own hot and sweaty body was pressed firm against his chest. He didn’t care though, he couldn’t, all he could care about was how goddamned brilliant he felt, his own cock aching in ecstasy as it pulsed between his lover’s buttocks, his lover’s member weeping pre-come and feeling hot and heavy in his hand.

 

He knew he wouldn’t last much longer, but it all felt so good, it’d all moved so slowly and with such passion, how much time had really passed? How long had it been since they’d kissed so heavily, with such love? How long had his hands roamed Yumi’s body? How long since he’d begun to make love in such an innocent way? It didn’t seem to matter. It could have been minutes or hours, it just felt so good and he couldn’t possibly ask for more, it was too good, too great!

 

Suddenly he could feel a familiar boiling deep inside his abdomen, a clenching and tensing of muscles as his mind seemed to sift away into distraction and pleasure, his sight waning as his pulse seemed to beat like a drum in his ears. His member seemed to throb and ache, twitching with a life of its own as it thrust against the hot skin of Yumi, and the heavenly feeling seemed to be reaching its peak where every part of his body felt ready to explode, to collapse in on itself, to take him to the heights of nirvana and beyond. It was then he heard Yumi called out loudly to the sky, his voice letting out a wrenching cry, before Ikkaku’s hand seemed to become coated in a warm, sticky, familiar mess. His lover turned his head, his face flushed crimson and lips parted, swollen and red, before kissing as much of Ikkaku’s lips as he could reach, murmuring a silent ‘I love you’ which tipped Ikkaku over the edge and beyond.

 

It was all too much, too intense, too good! He barely had time to compose himself before an explosion occurred from his length, hot ropes of come forcing forward to coat his lover’s buttocks and lower back, with some of the silvery substance trickling down to stain Ikkaku’s fundoshi and hakama. His whole body seemed at once to melt, every ounce of tension leaving him in that one instance to be replaced with ecstasy that no other living person could possibly know. Fuck! It felt so great, so perfect! What more could he want, what more could anyone ever want? He could feel his shaft softening, feel Yumichika like a dead weight upon him, and feel the radiant rays of the sun coming down to warm them both as they lay panting for breath, enjoying the moment that had passed between them. He loved moments like these, basking in the afterglow of good sex, holding Yumi in his arms; they just seemed all too perfect.

 

“My Ikkaku,” Yumichika gasped, a bead of sweat pouring down his temple, “I didn’t realise you could be so affectionate and gentle.”

 

He grunted in response, too exhausted to make any committed reply, too much enjoying the pleasure of what had came before to even bother trying. It was a perfect moment, why ruin it with words or arguments or conversation? Why not just let it stay pure, innocent, loving and a symbol of everything they wanted their relationship to be? Why not just enjoy it for what it was?

 

“Yeah, me either.” He murmured back.

 

“I enjoyed it. I love you so much, it was nice to feel loved too, but . . .”

 

Slightly suspicious Ikkaku sighed and cricked his neck, “But what?”

 

“But it was far _too_ affectionate! It was nice and all but I think I’d prefer such things to stay as dreams; I do much prefer a good solid, hard bout of sex to tender lovemaking any day! After all, it’s so much more satisfying when you talk dirty to when you whisper sweet nothings . . . Don’t you agree?”

 

Ikkaku said nothing, but – quite frankly – the moment he regained his energy he’d be kicking Yumichika’s ass from here all the way to Squad Eleven barracks . . . He knew his lover could be fickle, but to go on and on about ‘affection’ only to decide ‘actually, I’d rather have a good fuck’ was just unreal! How was a guy supposed to know where he stood when his lover kept changing the rules on him? It just wasn’t fair! This was exactly why he preferred fights and battles, all the adrenaline rush but less of the drama, much easier to understand in his opinion. Stupid Yumichika . . .

 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Ikkaku mumbled, “Because right now I really want to kill you. If I had my strength I’d so kick your ass.”

 

“Oh, don’t say such ugly things! You know you don’t mean them.”

 

Ikkaku smiled, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just tell Captain that you snuck out of guard duty to come service me, that way I get to watch _him_ kick your ass instead.”

 

“You wouldn’t!”

 

The look on Yumichika’s face was truly priceless, a mixture of terror and horror and sheer shock, something that was rarely ever seen on the gorgeous man, and something that made Ikkaku suddenly feel a hell of a lot better. After all, affection may be sweet . . . but revenge was so much sweeter . . .

 

 


End file.
